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Dec 18, 2005 00:46

"All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know."
-Hemingway

Sometimes I think about writing this sentence. My Great Aunt Frances had an antique postal scale on which her father weighed letters. I would take the scale down from its place on the tall desk, making sure my fingers kept the various weights from falling to the floor. I would put the scale down on the table and clutching the tarnished old weights in my hand, I would, one by one, place them on one side of the scale or the other. And then I would close my eyes and will the beam to remain in a straight line. When I think about this perfect sentence I imagine the symmetrical nominative and predicate, how I will take the verb into my palm and learn its shape, its curves and nicks. I will select and discard adjectives until I find the ones that are potent but not overbearing, understated but not insipid. The nouns will be gracious with a hint of impertinence as they tend to the verbs, those demanding geniuses. Their adverbs will clamor for attention and will be kept back, the sentence will be prevented from sprinting away, only by a firm hand at the gate. I cannot even imagine how this sentence would stand tingling and sturdy. I fantasize about spotting the elements shining like a piece of foil in a heap of trash.
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