You know the old say ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’? I’ve always thought it a really stupid say because it ignores both writing and picture-taking sub-texts of different media able to express different feelings in different manners. It would be like saying that a movie is worth three hundred pages of a novel or that a painting is worth the real-life experience. What crap.
I have decided to lay off the diary-writing in favour of some very basic picture-taking for the next week. This is because writers are often encouraged to do things differently; Twyla Tharp for example, even suggests to scrap reading for a whole week, and I cannot tell you how scary a proposition that is to me. I’d rather not keep the diary than not read at all; I am not even sure that this not reading business is even humanly possible. It certainly ain’t in my house. So you’ll have to excuse the bare bones of this place while I reduce my memory-keeping to little every-day pictures taken with a very basic camera phone while I concentrate on something else.
