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

Thursday, January 12, 2012

I have a reason

for learning about taking cute pictures. I really need to jump on that.
"But it's so hard!" - Scott Pilgrim
I have been messing with the settings on my camera, but I don't understand what I am doing, so it just gives me some pictures that are washed out and some that are all orangy and some that are just weird. I can't replicate the good pictures when I get one. Bah!
I heard about learning camera-ing on youtube. I'm off to give that a try.