And for a little while I held onto my weird bond with the dead artist. But – (shockingly) – it turns out leaning on Leonardo DaVinci for reassurance of how totally and completely not-weird I was, was a terrifically bad strategy. And before long the instinctive childlike kinship I initially felt with Leonardo was a source of confusion and something almost approaching self-scolding in and of itself. Because only DaVinci is DaVinci.
“The act of writing is a mystical thing,” she continued. “More than the mere marks written upon a page; writing a thing down can actually bring that thing into being. It is already halfway there as soon as your pen touches the page! And understanding? Writing will rain down blessings of understanding and knowledge into your life! I tell you the truth, my little angel, the ballet of the pen is, at times, divine.”