I've posted a few emails that I've written that I though weren't half bad, this is one of them to a person in my writing group, concerning my rambling style.
I have never rambled in my entire life! Now, maybe
like an itinerant and slightly loghorheatic vacuum
salesman with a poor grasp of English, I've felt a
need to extrapolate and finely craft the inner and
outer details of a subject. I may have, on occasion,
used points and counterpoints on my prose like so much
bling on hard-hitting gangsta rapper (originally from
Vermont). There may have been pinpoint of weakness in
the timeline of my writing, in which a short snappy
sentence might have created a world of it's own, an
interior life replete with absinthe fueled imaginings
of how if only it could be discovered it would move to
Paris and finally finish that post-avant-garde
pre-anti-post-modern epic poem in Swahili.
I admit, that how fleetingly, a sentence may have
added compounding to it's own compounds, until the
weight of it's commas and semi-colons brings it to its
knees, grasping for the quickly failing vision of
whatever point it was trying to make.
However unfair, critics may have taken up arms against
my fondness of words in which twenty or ninety words
might be used in the place of three or four.
But ramble? Ramble?
Surely not.
I have never rambled in my entire life! Now, maybe
like an itinerant and slightly loghorheatic vacuum
salesman with a poor grasp of English, I've felt a
need to extrapolate and finely craft the inner and
outer details of a subject. I may have, on occasion,
used points and counterpoints on my prose like so much
bling on hard-hitting gangsta rapper (originally from
Vermont). There may have been pinpoint of weakness in
the timeline of my writing, in which a short snappy
sentence might have created a world of it's own, an
interior life replete with absinthe fueled imaginings
of how if only it could be discovered it would move to
Paris and finally finish that post-avant-garde
pre-anti-post-modern epic poem in Swahili.
I admit, that how fleetingly, a sentence may have
added compounding to it's own compounds, until the
weight of it's commas and semi-colons brings it to its
knees, grasping for the quickly failing vision of
whatever point it was trying to make.
However unfair, critics may have taken up arms against
my fondness of words in which twenty or ninety words
might be used in the place of three or four.
But ramble? Ramble?
Surely not.
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