From Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale

People disappear when they die. Their voices, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living mempry of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continut to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humour, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.

--Diane Setterfield



Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Goings on

So I have been having much thoughts lately. Unfortunately for the internet, they have been going into my journal, lest someone be offended by them. It's interesting to watch the correlation of handwriting to typing proficiency. My handwriting has improved to a level I find acceptable. My typing skills have dwindled.

I do need input. I'm singing a song in church next week and I'm thinking of having Scott video-record it so I can post it and share my skillz... or lack thereof with the world. The thing is... the girlI'm singing a duet with is like... um ... exactly like Megan. Megan died 2.5 years ago and it's still hard on certain family members... I don't know if it would be callous to post this duet. It will look and sound pretty much exactly like I'm singing with her.

PLEASE send me your comments.
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