My Lonely City

Yes, I finished Harry Potter. (Mwah hah hah hah – sounds like I kilt him, doesn’t it?) And yes, it was great. A satisfying experience and a fun ride.

But it – and the other book I read yesterday, which was also satisfying and fun – have been seriously messing up my dream life. I’ve had multiple, vivid, vaguely disturbing dreams every night since finishing The Deathly Hallows, but I don’t remember enough of them to write down.

Hm.

But speaking of writing. My ramble of the day (or at least of the morning):

To write is to create. To capture, to examine, to explore. To memorialize, to crystallize, to preserve for scrutiny or praise. To give shape or definition, to distill, to expand. To communicate, to connect, to explain. To write is to be heard, even if only by oneself. This is what I mean by my theory that the work of heaven will be to write our book of God, just as he has written his Book of us.

And there I go again, talking about religious stuff in every post. Gah.