I am all for slow, slow and accurate writing.
I wait for the words, I want to feel them grow in my soul, the sentences must form with dancing movements, without the worry of a deadline.
The opening sentence should be patiently awaited, it must appear in all its strength.
It is what captures the reader’s attention, the only thing that counts for any journalist or writer.
Festina lente, ‘make haste slowly’, this ancient saying could be the motto for my profession. Working and writing, but with extreme caution.
I try to switch on a light, but it isn’t always noticed.
And the canvas that bears all the colours doesn’t always manage to be torn to let the sun through.
No, you will not find instant-news here.
I will not be part of the information mega-flow, of a billion memos, of information bits, of opinions mistaken for news, of a hyper-dynamic present that demands everything immediately.
Speed is unhealthy, the burning acceleration we are subject to, plunders the mind, removes any room for reflection. There is no time, if you want to keep up with the stranglehold of information, or similar shams.
No, you will not find a thousand notes on tasting here, or twenty thousand copy-and-paste news references from press releases, or eight thousand articles.
I will take all the time I need to delve, to research, to personally go and see with my own eyes, to touch with my hands, to study, to check the sources, to think things over.
I am all for slow narration, in tune with natural gestation periods.
Writing is giving birth to substantial words that need to be looked for, assessed and put together in a well thought out plot. The words sail quietly from a tiny port to face the open sea. They come from a spring in a clearing of the soul to face the daily jungle.