Last night I was looking over the last two months of tweets by pianist
Valentina Lisitsa. For reasons unknown to me I had never followed her
on Twitter. And as I read through them I felt that I was getting to know
a bit about her and her life. She was talking about politics and the next
election, bad airline flights, Supreme Court decisions and copyrights,
skeet guns (believe it or not), fellow artists, the weather, and of course
music and recordings and distant cities. All of which made me realize how
incredibly different my life is from the one she describes. Given the high
regard and even affection that I have toward Valentina that thought made
me a little sad. Perhaps it shouldn't, but it did — palm to palm is holy
palmer's kiss. My own activities involve no concert dates and interviews.
I walk across the street to the grocery; take the bus to the doctor. My
life is mostly my tiny corner of my tiny apartment, sitting at my desk and
running a now broken-down blog. And in my own more creative activities,
the fiction, it is as often as not done these days in periods of insomnia and
lying alone in the dark, typing out lines on the Blackberry — these lines.
"I fit for them" Emily Dickinson once wrote, "I seek the dark till I am
thorough fit." I would hope the Creator already knows what a skinny horrid
dark well it is that I have thrown myself down into over the past six months
with the new writing. But to all you out there in the world, as my own kind
of tweet, I would like you to know that I am working as hard as I can at this
other keyboard, following the lines, making the occasional notes, running
through passages — trying to make it all somehow fit.