Ellipses

These extracts from my spontaneous and infrequent jottings-down – scraps of paper fluttering by in the wind – are elliptical in the sense that their original context has been elided, thus they are to some degree nonsensical. (Unfortunately ‘ellipsis’ and ‘elide’ turn out to be etymologically unrelated.)

2021

If one is singing Compline outdoors in the wintertime at night, it is a very wonderful thing if the air is completely tranquil, so that one's candle-flame hardly quavers, much less thinks of blowing out. I am very grateful on such occasions.

It makes me glad to hear pumpkin seeds pop as they toast in the oven.

2020

As I was reading Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie, I came across a song that turned out to be a translation of Clamanda, from the Sacred Harp.

Last night I woke up at 2:30 am and could not return to sleep. Eventually I lit a candle and finished reading my novel, Piranesi.

I once dropped my semicolons between the boards of the front porch: I rescued them with a bent m-dash.

On oomancy by Susanna Clarke

Yesterday evening we had friends over to our apartment for our weekly oomancy session. As I was sweeping the floor in anticipation of their arrival, I reflected upon the first time I tried my hand at oomancy.

2019

This city is a strange place—so much of it is paved.

The trees here—it must be lonely for them, not being in a forest; stretching their roots out and finding soil compacted by cement, soil sparse of arboreal conversation.

I want to buy this Oxford UP edition of the Book of Common Prayer; but maybe I only want to want it, not to have it.

2018

2017

While skating at the Oval this afternoon with a few friends, I felt compelled to offer an explanation for why I was alternating smooth skating with bouts of stumbling.

2016

I made a remark shortly after I came in the door—paraphrased from David Lebovitz (unfortunately I've lost the link)—about the state of the Parisian baguette: Emma is this moment recording it in her quote-book. I am flattered.