i'm nobody-who are you?

I am in the midst of The Diary of Emily Dickinson by Jamie Fuller...a fictional diary based on the letters and poetry of Emily Dickinson.

Dickinson's poetry and life have been interesting to me for years...her poetry is stark, lean. It's not ornate, but it has delicate designs carved into it, like a piece of silver jewelry.

I'm also a fan of the diary and memoir form of storytelling. I've kept a journal off and on for most of my life, but it wouldn't be much use to anyone trying to write a biography because I only record the mundane, lists and what's going on around me that causes me to be crazy. I am afraid of being clear about what I am feeling to the point that I literally can't tell a blank page what I am feeling. It's hidden from me.

Also, I'm not Emily Dickinson, nor Virginia Woolf, nor any of the other women diarists I have read or heard of. I feel silly saying the cirrus whisp across the sky like lace trimming an Alice blue gown. (are the white whispy clouds cirrus?) When Emily says it, it sounds like a hymn. When I say it, I sound pretentious and like a pseudo-intellectual...

Work beckons...