Virginia Woolf has been in my thoughts lately. I recently finished reading A Room of One’s Own by her and was really struck by her ideas and ideals (even though intersectionality is glaringly absent when read with a contemporary eye- she was writing in the late 1920s). In the expanded speeches that comprise the book she invoked the spirit of the sentence as a thing meaning The Sentence from which a writer constructed prose. All of the greats had a different sentence, one that had been partially written for them, Woolf said, by previous greats- as these great men could think back through their fathers in history. She claimed that women need to make their own sentence to serve our own intellectual and emotional way of describing and building things. How wonderful! Just thinking of how many sentences there might be out there- from all different perspectives and needs- builders learning the word alchemy of creation.
In not writing, I found my own sentence. As I was knitting, and then as I was un-knitting and then again as I was re-knitting, I wondered why I was putting so much effort into my creation. Why did I want it to be perf...okay, symmetrical anyway? Because I cared, and because caring enough to make it right is how I define honor. The title my sentence would follow is Care as Honor.
What is your honor? And what is your sentence?