Days, weeks, years, of striving to shape and craft and mold that writing voice which is becoming mine, have led me to the shrewd disclosure of this self-truth: that my ever-increasingly perfectionistic, obsessive behaviour is manifested in my writing through the endless polishing of a single sentence to consummation, searching for that purity of prose - that elusive essence of the exact experiential moment - which can be defined by a single strand of word pearls, connected end-to-end with each contributing specific and beauteous meaning to the completed necklace which is that sentence. Linguistic jewellery.
My eventual quest then: to perfect that skill of epitomizing a complex encounter into a single protracted - might one even say verbose? - sentence, subsequently followed by a compressed exclamation attempting to sum up that feeling evoked by the transpiration itself; the clasp, that is. Closure.
