"I hate writing, I love having written" - Dorothy Parker
“You once said to would like to sit beside me while I write. Listen in that case I could not write at all. For writing means revealing one self to excess; that utmost of self-revelation and surrender, in which a human being, when involved with others, would feel he was losing himself, and from which, therefore, he will always shrink as long as he is in his right mind...That is why one can never be alone enough when one writes, why there can never be enough silence around one when one writes, why even night is not night enough.” - Susan Cain, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking
“Anyone moderately familiar with the rigours of composition will not need to be told the story in detail; how he wrote and it seemed good; read and it seemed vile; corrected and tore up; cut out; put in; was in ecstasy; in despair; had his good nights and bad mornings; snatched at ideas and lost them; saw his book plain before him and it vanished; acted people's parts as he ate; mouthed them as he walked; now cried; now laughed; vacillated between this style and that; now preferred the heroic and pompous; next the plain and simple; now the vales of Tempe; then the fields of Kent or Cornwall; and could not decide whether he was the divinest genius or the greatest fool in the world.” - Virginia Woolf, Orlando
“Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind, is written large in his works.” - Virginia Woolf
“When I write, I feel like an armless, legless man with a crayon in his mouth.” - Kurt Vonnegut
The colors of Siena are warm. Yellows, golds, browns, and reds are abundant like a constant autumn. While walking amongst the narrow medieval roads, the colors envelope you into a thermal cloak of bliss. Traversing the sloping hills and dipping valleys bring even more heat to your being, cheeks flushed and heart racing, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Just a single stroll through the city fills you to the brim with energy. Siena is filled with many energies and driving forces. In particular, there exists a creative energy in Siena, which is present in multiple forms. The paintings of Simone Martini and the frescoes of Ambrogio Lorenzetti saturate the walls of the Palazzo Pubblico with an inspiring vivacity. The Gothic style architecture imbue one’s mind with imaginative and speculative visions of the past. It is in Siena that my most creative energy was fostered. It was here that I found my words and discovered my expression through penmanship.
There is much to be said about practice of writing. There lies a great responsibility in words. The writer is an artist and educator in one. Words are what humankind utilizes to shape perceptions and ideas. The writer must at one time create the image and the definition. If the wrong words are chosen and placed together, then an incorrect depiction has been crafted. This can be dangerous for the subject of of those words, if what is or who they are is not portrayed with caution.
There was a multitude of things to share. Siena is a secretive city. Not secretive in the sneaky, deceitful sort of way. You aren’t fearful or anxious while exploring the innermost depths of this medieval maze. Siena is full of delightful secrets, little surprises that you must find or you’ll never know them. But once you know them you become a happier person, and this secret stays in your mind forever. One day, you’ll stumble into an olive grove, and the next, a charming farm. Places like these, along with the dark alleyways, cozy bars, and narrow streets create a closeness that is romantic and keeps you curious about what lies around the each and every corner. Every new secret was an intimate encounter that I wanted to write about.
I had to find the right words that would deliver an explanation of my time in Siena back to those in my home. The struggle of balancing the artist and the educator loomed heavily over me. I understood my responsibility but it also frightened me. What if I failed in painting the correct picture?
“To thine own self be true” were the words of Polonius to Laertes and I internalized this sage advice. I could only craft what words I know. As a writer, and specifically a writer of travels, I had to be true to my experiences and the spaces and I am inhabiting. Reality in media is a rarity in our world, so when a writer pens truth it is intimate and important. Siena allowed me to be an exhibitionist and share my words for all to see. I can only hope that my words served Siena well.