That quote defines why I write. When I started to write this blog, I didn’t know that was why I write. It whets my appetite for mapping to have two (or more) seemingly disparate events occur and to know – and I don’t know how I know – that they are connected. And then, “… the game’s afoot,” to steal a phrase from Henry V – according to Shakespeare, that is. Call it the firing of subconscious synapses if you will, but to call it coincidence and walk on by is a scandalous loss of a mapping opportunity. And we must lose no time in getting back to the source of the river.
This excerpt from Spivet might be going in the direction of explaining the phenomenon:
“The Resilience of Memory
“… I suppose even these torqued moments of import could only disappear if they happened to occur next to the black holes of our lives. And yet the synaptic composition of a memory was such that it could weather the pull of the black hole and reappear months later, just as the image of Benefideo’s circular frames now snagged upon the baleen of my recall as I ate my cheeseburger in Pocatello.”
Like, when it rains showers of frogs?
Why do you write?
