Beyond Words: More Words
I feel like my best writing (and thinking) revolves around words, not images, not moving type, just two-dimensional words on a page. Am I on a slowly sinking ship? Am I bound to be banished to the forest with a pickax and some seeds? Will my students cyber-punch me until they can scrounge up a more techno-savvy teacher? Although I'm only 34, my mind's elasticity seems rigid in terms of digital intake and output, my words on the page all the more naked for their lack of movement and sizzle. I am Cinderella without the makeover, watching my step-sisters sash and swish in their new gowns, jealous but somehow consoled by the little animated bluebirds flitting on my shoulder. Where do my words belong?