Well....you know when you are not so well, yet you have typed more than you usually do? That somehow, it all makes sense and you can pat yourself on the back for being equally prolific and proficient. I have just looked at last Friday's writing. All I can say is - Good Lord o_O. I have had a few ' say what?? ' moments - in some areas, I understand the gist, but absolutely NONE of the syntax and visa-versa. What was I on about - or ON even? I remember now - Corvonia and Lemsip. I have 1,458 words, but I really need to edit before I go on.
Have taken a break, mostly to get some echinacea and lip salve from the market. Lips are cracked and I feel like I have been punched in the face. 1,658 words. Not sure how I am going to pull this round, to be honest. I have to signpost it back to the original title and pepper observations as Forster's own, plus read around the subject a bit more.
I have managed 2,046, I think I have to change the way I plan essays. I read the book with the idea that I would be using key phrases, so I had the presence of mind to log them - but I think I could have done with typing them out first of all, so the essay would fit better. I had a good plan which has worked, but it needs an awful amount of meshing to make any sense.
It is difficult to talk of cultural differences, unless you get inside the mind of a different race and how can you walk in a mile in the shoes of that person? Plus also sometimes I totally get why the subtext gets confused on both sides and Forster goes to great pains to show it via his text, but there is something more tangible I am trying to grasp here. A feeling that mere words cannot express. I can see the tailcoats of it, but words do not come to mind. It is a sensory thing of which my emotional body can understand, but of which my intellect has problems. It is paradoxically the simplicity and the complexities of it and my word-finding faculties have gone to the wall.