Imbolc Full Wild Moon
An unusual day for me. Up early, I got downstairs and had my 1,500 words in before 11:30. I fed the dogs and began reading a short story, Duel, by Heinrich von Kleist, a German writer. I read a remark about his work, that it was among the best in the German language, probably the best in the 19th century. The writer of the article compared Kleist to Borges and said though that the author closest to him was Franz Kafka. OK. Borges and Kafka are two of my literary gods. Kleist never wrote anything longer than a novella, didn’t leave much at all, a few short works, some plays and some anecdotes. Someone collected them in one book.
This guy amazed me, as he would anyone, by the density and length of his sentences; yet also he impresses with their clarity and the fact that each phrase pushes the story further, not only further, but in a direction not predictable from what has gone before. This story is maybe 12 pages long, but I didn’t get far in it, so mesmerized was I by his language.
Kate brought home lunch. We ate. I took a nap that knocked me out of the nuclear moratorium hearing today at the capitol. I find myself increasingly unwilling to go into town for single events in the afternoon. I wish it weren’t so, but there it is.
Then I worked on my 1600-1850 tour and this and thatted around until I missed my exercise. I almost never miss exercise and never when I have the time. Yet I did tonight. It felt very transgressive. Anyhow, I’m done with the night and we’ll start over tomorrow. One good thing about exercise and me is that I have been at it long enough that missed nights, even missed weeks don’t throw me off. I get right back up and start again.