I have been reading Brian Kiteley's book, The 3 a.m. Epiphany, and found this:
"The original meaning of exercise, from the Latin, was to drive out of an enclosure (you can see and smell the horses here; the Latin verbs we still use like this one and educate are often simple farming terms turning into abstract philosophical ideas). Drive your ideas out of enclosures, into the open." (006)
Kiteley's method is to teach by driving students through exercises, and then letting them learn from the exercises. He advises that we avoid writing stories while writing the exercises, and seems to mean that the exercises will tug us off balance, and when we are off-balance, our best stories will surprise us.
Several years ago, inspired by I forget what exactly, I decided that I needed to reclaim the power of the horse. I bought some horse prints and a set of horse bookends -- a second set, as I have a beautiful marble pair that my cousin Mary gave me when I graduated from high school. I wrote poems about the horses of my childhood, I started an autobiographical novel about being a horse-crazy girl. I bought a horse mug. I borrowed my friend's Tao of Equus books and never gave them back (though I haven't forgotten they are hers). I bought a new copy of the My Friend Flicka trilogy. I took my daughters for horseback riding lessons. I did everything but actually ride a horse.
Riding a horse is on this year's to-do list. Until I wrote this post, I didn't realize I was avoiding it. I think there's a story there.
"The original meaning of exercise, from the Latin, was to drive out of an enclosure (you can see and smell the horses here; the Latin verbs we still use like this one and educate are often simple farming terms turning into abstract philosophical ideas). Drive your ideas out of enclosures, into the open." (006)
Kiteley's method is to teach by driving students through exercises, and then letting them learn from the exercises. He advises that we avoid writing stories while writing the exercises, and seems to mean that the exercises will tug us off balance, and when we are off-balance, our best stories will surprise us.
Several years ago, inspired by I forget what exactly, I decided that I needed to reclaim the power of the horse. I bought some horse prints and a set of horse bookends -- a second set, as I have a beautiful marble pair that my cousin Mary gave me when I graduated from high school. I wrote poems about the horses of my childhood, I started an autobiographical novel about being a horse-crazy girl. I bought a horse mug. I borrowed my friend's Tao of Equus books and never gave them back (though I haven't forgotten they are hers). I bought a new copy of the My Friend Flicka trilogy. I took my daughters for horseback riding lessons. I did everything but actually ride a horse.
Riding a horse is on this year's to-do list. Until I wrote this post, I didn't realize I was avoiding it. I think there's a story there.
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