Friday, October 19, 2012

i confess it made me uneasy - makes me uneasy still - to think that this little book was out of my possession even for two days.  the thought of another person reading my words is most discomforting.  i cannot help but think how another person would interpret certain things i have written, for when i write for myself only, and know perfectly well the truth of what i write, i am perhaps less careful of my expression, and writing at speed, may sometimes express myself in a way that could be misinterpreted by another who would not have my insight into what i really mean.  thinking over some of the things i have written, i can see that they might appear to a stranger in a light rather different from what i intended, and i wonder whether i should tear these pages and destroy them.  only i do not want to, for these are the pages that i most want to keep, to read later, when i am old and gone from here, and think back to the happiness of [life].
~the thirteenth tale, diane setterfield

it's a strange and eerily comforting moment all twisted together when i read something that so mirrors what i feel sometimes.  did she just telepathize herself into my brain noodles??  weird.


  1. i recently read "Blue Like Jazz" by Donald Miller. His thoughts, especially on relationships, pretty much mirror my own. And I felt like if I ever wrote a Christian book, it would be pretty similar to his book.

  2. I miss your posts! When is the next one??