I have not had a chance to listen to Brownbird today. It's been largely busy--one thing after the other, and I have been so absorbed in writing that music has become a distraction. I went to 10,000 Villages, hosted by Covenant Presbyterian Church, this morning with my mom and Micaela and bought a few items. With the exception of food and books, I have trouble buying "things." I can always think of several reasons why I don't need it. But I really wanted to support 10,000 villages, the church, and the people who made the crafts, so trying not to think, I went and grabbed a Bangladesh prayer flag. It just occurred to me where Bangladesh is and that makes me appreciate it a little more. I took a really amazing world geography class last semester and learned that Bangladesh used to be a part of Pakistan because the British thought it would be a good idea to polarize the Hindus and the Muslims further, so India became a Hindu state and West (Pakistan today) and East Pakistan (Bangladesh today) became a Muslim state.

After 10,000 villages, I tried to write an essay until Jesse's AMAZING guitar recital. His individual pieces were incredible and engaging. After he finished, four other guitar players joined him and the music they played was powerful. Glen and Tracey began to teach me mandolin last night and I have a new appreciation for strings, fret, and finger position. To diverge, I really like guitar and mandolin in that they remind me of playing piano. I like the idea of stretching and curving finger to produce the sound--not breathing and reeds as it is with oboe.
I feel like I can flow with the music better when I play with my fingers and not my air.
Where does dancing fit in then?

But coming back to the essay...I would like to post it here when it is finished. It is my essay about Austin and I hesitate because it is creative non-fiction, and the blog is available to the internet.
But I finished the critical introduction today. I wrote it without an outline and watched in wonder as the ending to my introduction became the ending of my essay. I pieced together thoughts and ideas in places I hadn't originally intended and felt as if I was crafting, not writing, a story.

"You get one life and who wants to spend it at the wee hours of the morning, writing?"
-Janisse Ray