Of Snowmen and Ice Sculptures

There are two methods of writing. One is to begin with nothing and add words until an idea has been expressed. The other is to take all that could be said and whittle away all but one idea that you want to express. One is like a snowman the other is like an ice sculpture. One is prose, the other is poetry. I don't know which method I employ in my writing. Is a combination possible? More to the point, when the sun comes out isn't all of it going to melt anyways? Can a metaphor reverse itself on the writer and destroy him; does it gain power and get out of hand? What are these hands that we talk about while writing? It is as if ideas reside in the palms of our hands. Is this why fortune-tellers look at palms in order to tell the future? Is there much difference then between a rational analytic philosopher and a mystical fortune-teller? I think not.

And we see what has happened here. I allowed my idea to progress. I did not begin with anything, but came out with a conclusion. This means that my writing is prose. On the other hand though, perhaps I did start with everything and through my process of asking seemingly unrelated questions I did carve away and come up with a conclusion, an ice sculpture. And here again I find myself talking about hands. This is certainly something I am going to ponder some more. You decide what this post is about...