SENTENCES. THEY’RE YOUR MOST INTIMATE WHISPER, the pillow talk of your writing life, the tickle of your breath in your reader’s ear. They’re both the whistle of the midnight train and the track your writing heart rides upon. Like a bumbling 20-minute freight, your sentences might ramble on. Or they might bustle through as quick as a three-car commuter rail. No matter. Your sentences—shapely, lovely, long or not-so, curving through a landscape of ideas or driving straight at the brick wall of conclusion—sing your siren song.
One of my tarot-writer heroes, Barbara Moore, shared an article by writer Susan DeFreitas titled, “The Gift of Gab: Mastering the Maximal.” In it, DeFreitas treats us to lovely examples of long, winding sentences, then names the purposes—besides the purely aesthetic pleasure they provide—such sexy sentences might serve.
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