A Case as Blotter Art - free story manners of

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There are moments in our elapse that shape our vision. Going via my childhood photo scrapbooks, I grab a glimpse of Anna in the early grades, a silence girl who, if she were still living, does not know how even in grade 4, she was pointing the way to liberty of wording. There namely a lesson here that comes in nearby for parents and grandparents.
I have often surprised if Anna’s life might have taken a different turn had she lived her early grades in the sixties when the ballpoint pen, replacing the fountain pen, allotted with the use of ink blotters in school. Children of the fifties, we learnt writing the hard way―with steel-nibbed pens which we submerged in ink pots and which invariably turned the writing experience into a mud-bath. It took us months to study the art of compromise: speed averaged fortuitous globs and splotches; whether you truly ambitioned to save time, you would be distant wiser to activity the tortoise.
But Anna was no turtle. Her mind shook faster than light; she was figuring a way to Bali when we were still stuck in the grade 3 reader; in the fourth grade, when those of us with older siblings were always agog over Elvis, she could find nought more passionate than Japanese prints.
I memorize Sister Mary Michael, the composition instructor in grade 4, who told us that writing was one act of God and that the true author would find his share of godliness in the divine trinity of pen, paper and blotter. Of the 3,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], the blotter was the most indispensable. “Why?” we asked. “Good prose depends on the course you control the ink.” There was many another that needed to be controlled as well, along to Sister Mary Michael. Reading Anna’s essay on why she liked chocolates, Sister became quite still and angular. She peered down at the baby, her eyes blue and hard on her spectacles. “Too many adjectives,” she snapped. “Too numerous words!”
When Anna looked at her, unmoved,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], Sister repossessed her pen. The nib drew a rapid, thin line over Anna’s script; the blotter followed; there came more ruddy lines, extra words slashed away.
I watched Anna afterward she returned to her desk. She began writing, dabbing the blotter after her pen in true Sister Mary Michael fashion. For a when, it seemed as though Anna had learnt her lesson. But when I peered more closely over her elbow, I noticed that it was the blotter that was absorbing her amuse. She had dribbled a smudge on the top right-hand turn of the sheet; she stuck the nib in the center of the spot and watched the darkness grow; a few details with the nib and the blotch became a piece of chocolate, its center dissolving into a cavity. Fascinated, I watched her work more blotches on the digestive paper and more dabs until the plenary blotter cornered into a kind of chocolate swiss-cheese.
Out of her desk came more blotter sheets. Instead of holes, she made lines this time, black molasses lines dribbled and leaked almost spider fashion from one corner to the next; she ceased equitable long ample to thicken the medium extend without breaking the flow until the entire sheet became criss-crossed with tubes of varying lengths and lengths and the blotter sat on her desk like a chocolate web.
It was an early edition of blotter art, so unique it made your cilia stand on end. But Sister Mary Michael could no very penetrate that.
“What on earth are you act?” she queried, appalled, staring by the blotters aboard Anna’s desk. The girl held up her last completed sheet; it was a masterpiece, composed fully of lines, thick and skinny, straight and wavy radiating from a field of chocolate hearts, such that while you saw at the entire, you could feel a shift in poise, for whereas you were being preoccupied into the thick of things.
“Young lady,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych],” said Sister, crashing the pacify. “Do you consider namely God proposed us apt use blotters in this fashion?” Anna’s face dripped. “Do you think namely God would have approved of this?”
“No,” said Anna eventually.
“Why not ?”
“I don’t think he likes chocolates.”
Anna left school after grade 6. We did not reserve in touch and I had almost