Zoom is what I’ll be doing tomorrow. I’ll wake up in Media, PA, and zoom! I’ll be having dinner tomorrow evening in St. Louis. And then, for the next three days I’ll be zooming from venue to venue telling stories under the auspices of the 34th Annual St. Louis Storytelling Festival, until Sunday morning, when zoom! The put me on a plane and before nightfall, zoom, I’m back in Media. I thought I’d have to ask Jack to tape the final episode of The Bletchley Circle for me. But no. I’ll be home in plenty of time.
And this brings April, and the A-to-Z Challenge to a close. To everyone who popped in and left a comment, thank you! To everyone whose blogs I popped in and commented on, ditto! I’ve read some lively writing this month, thought about things that hadn’t occurred to me before, and gained sustenance from interacting with other word nerds.
About this compulsion to squeeze words from our brains and put them in readable form, Dylan Thomas sort of said it all in his poem “In My Craft or Sullen Art.” You can cut and paste that title into a search box and see what I mean. Australia’s Banjo Patterson said it a little more upbeat:
A Song Of The Pen
by Andrew Barton Paterson
Not for the love of women toil we, we of the craft,
Not for the people’s praise;
Only because our goddess made us her own and laughed,
Claiming us all our days,
Claiming our best endeavour, body and heart and brain
Given with no reserve,
Niggard is she towards us, granting us little gain:
Still, we are proud to serve.
Not unto us is given choice of the tasks we try,
Gathering grain or chaff;
One of her favoured servants toils at an epic high,
One, that a child may laugh.
Yet if we serve her truly in our appointed place,
Freely she doth accord
Unto her faithful servants always this saving grace,
Work is its own reward!