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Well begun is half done
"Begin with your name."
Begin, my master says -- as if I had not pressed ink-sticks, bound soft marten hairs into bristles, pulped paper rags for more than a year before he let me merely hold a brush in writing position.
I take up the brush, dabble it in ink, draw it over the page. Transfixed by the shock of dark ink on creamy paper, I strain to recall all his teaching. Move from the elbow, not the wrist. I trace the last stroke of lambe simply, not daring to flourish, and hold my breath.
He considers. "A good beginning."
[For Meril, who wanted to see a student (any kind) learning something in Middle-Earth. The speaker of the drabble is Tasariel from my story Fading Leaves.] |
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