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John Palcewski's Journal

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Her Father Wonders
forioscribe


title or description


Near an ancient healing spring Raffaelina sings a song in a dialect that is rarely heard on Ischia these days. It’s about a little girl who brings her father joy, but too often makes him clench his teeth in frustration. One day his little girl disappears. He and the rest of the villagers look everywhere, but do not find her. He is consumed with grief because she might have fallen into the sea, and carried away. But, three days later, his little girl reappears. She had merely been hiding. What do you do with a girl like that? her father wonders.

“Do you like this song?” Raffaelina asks.
“Very much,” James replies.
“Would you like to hear another?”


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She reminds me of my Grandmother. She seems to have an expression in the second picture of being truly pleased and happy to see you. Is she the woman that you've taken pictures of in the desert?

Thanks for asking. No, I had never seen this charming woman before, and have not seen her since. It's one of those rare instances when a photographer is lucky enough to make an instant connection with his subject. She had not a trace of self-consciousness, or embarrassment. From the first moment I liked her very much, and apparently she liked me. The entire encounter didn't last more than two minutes, time enough to make five images in the early morning light. These two are the best among them.

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Thanks. Yes, she was entirely as captivating as she appears.

all this and pictures, too...
blessed be
Z
xxx

Thanks. She was, indeed, a blessing...

you're a man of great talent , Joh,
thanks for the links re-agents, by the way.
I assiduously working through those
blessed be
Z
xxx

Assiduously Working Through...

“It’s dogged as does it,” is the famous saying of British novelist Anthony Trollope. Here is more, culled from the net:

Also calculated to displease was Trollope’s attitude toward the whole notion of artistic “inspiration,” which he regarded with undisguised scorn. “To me,” he wrote, “it would not be more absurd if the shoemaker were to wait for inspiration.”

What mattered to Trollope was application. His discipline was legendary. According to the famous story recounted in the Autobiography, he paid his groom £5 a year extra to wake him at 5:00 A.M. so that he could be at his desk by 5:30. “I do not know that I ought not to feel that I owe more to him than to any one else for the success I have had,” Trollope reflected. “By beginning at that hour, I could complete my literary labor before I dressed for breakfast.”

Nor did Trollope dawdle and “sit nibbling the pen.” He spent half an hour reading over and correcting what he had written the day before. Then, with a clock in front of him, he managed 250 words every quarter hour, covering ten pages and producing on average 2,500 words before he set off for a full day’s work on Post Office business.

His manuscripts suggest that he did virtually no rewriting. Following this regimen, he generally wrote about 10,000 words a week, on some occasions as much as 25,000 words. And this was week in and week out, month after month, year after year.

In other words, Trollope exhibited in spades the Victorian belief in the transformative power of work. “[I]t’s a sheer matter of industry,” he declared. “It’s not the head that does it—it’s the cobbler’s wax on the seat and the sticking to my chair!”

Trollope admitted that his procedure might not conduce to works of genius. But, he explains, “the idea that I was the unfortunate owner of unappreciated genius never troubled me.”

Punctuality was of supreme importance to him. “With all the pages that I have written for magazines I have never been a day late,” Trollope remarks proudly, “nor have I ever caused inconvenience by sending less or more matter than I had stipulated to supply. But I have sometimes found myself compelled to suffer by the irregularity of others.”

Even in this age of word processors and modems, I daresay that there are few writers who can make that worthy boast.

Re: Assiduously Working Through...

This makes a great deal of sense to me
(old fashioned as I am)-
and sometimes I do quote Mario Puzo,
who used to be annoyed by the accusation that he was lucky , and who used to say
'I find that the harder I work, the luckier I get'
Amen to that.
Blessed be
Z
xxx

Wow. That looks like all my grandmothers put together. I love it.

Thanks! If they look like this woman, then you are lucky!

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