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The section of One Writer’s Beginnings that I read today starts like this:  “Learning stamps you with its moments.  Childhood’s learning is made up of moments.  It isn’t steady.  It’s a pulse.”

 

If I had only read that much, I would have done something worthwhile with my day.  I did continue for a few pages, however.  This is the section where she tells about her father holding her up to see Halley’s comet when she was only an infant sleeping in his arms—the story that made its way into a Mary Chapin Carpenter song.

 

Here she continues her theme of listening by recalling her times around the family Victrola.  Even that musical listening she relates to writing:  “Ever since I was first read to, then started reading to myself, there has never been a line read that I didn’t hear.”

 

She wonders if all writers “read as listeners” and “write as listeners,” if they hear the voice talking as they read.  I’d imagine she’s on to something there.  I’d imagine the good writers and then some read exactly like that.

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