“The Moving finger writes; and, having writ,
– Verse 51 of Edward FitzGerald’s translation of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám
I use this quote here because I’m revisiting my old writing, looking at old blog posts. Sadly, having writ, I don’t like what my finger wrote; I haven’t moved on. Am I the only one who revisits old writing and invariably feels the need to wretch? I can’t be.
Something’s not right, though. These posts either seem too short, too long, or altogether too stiff. Rarely do I get it right. Perhaps the brevity of Instagram is where it’s at. Picture, picture, hashtag, done? ∆