Years ago, on a beach in northern Spain, the Scientist and I came across an inviting cafe in the sand, overlooking a quiet bay. Hungry and thirsty for local cuisine, we ordered the special of the day: Chipirones en su Tinta, with Txakoli. Squid in its own Ink, accompanied by a glass of sparkling white wine. The dish was delicious, as was the whole experience of traveling together through the Basque country.
Ever since then, I have been considering that phrase--"in its own ink"--rolling it around on my tongue, tasting the metaphor. Like the squid, we are sometimes cooked in our own ink -- caught in a net, stained by our words, marked by our fears -- served up on a platter for others' pleasure.
Unlike the squid, however, I offer this blog not for the purspose of obfuscation but for clarity. I am experimenting with what it means for me to publish my musings, to challenge myself with a weekly writing practice that will result in something worth reading.