A blanc canvas
A photo I took a long time ago in Fez
Illustrating what I want to tell you.
Why I moved into writing in the she-form,
without that I had any intention.
There is always a she in my stories.
She wanders.
She observes.
She notices things that might otherwise go unseen.
Sometimes she is brave.
Sometimes uncertain.
Sometimes she simply stands still and watches the world pass.
Sometimes she doesn’t know…
“She’ can be anyone.
And that is precisely why I write her as she.
She is a blank page.
A space onto which I can place a thought, a feeling, a memory, a question.
I can let her walk into a place without knowing what she will find there.
I can let her change her mind.
I can let her see the world differently.
When writing ‘she’ gives me a little distance.
Enough to look at her.
Enough to wonder about her.
Enough to let her become someone
beyond
the person I think I am.
But there is a strange thing about distance.
The further I look, the more familiar she becomes.
Because she is not really someone else.
She is me.
Or perhaps she is the woman I am still becoming.
A blanc page
never really is blanc.
Look carefully.
La FlâneuZe