"Orlando, who had just dipped her pen in the ink, and was about to indite some reflection upon the eternity of all things, was much annoyed to be impeded by a blot, which spread and meandred round her pen. It was some infirmity of the quill, she supposed; it was split or dirty. She dipped it again. The blot increased. She tried to go on with what she was saying; no words came. Next she began to decorate the blot with wings and whiskers, till it became a round-headed monster, something between a bat and a wombat" (Orlando, Penguin, 1993 [1928], p. 163-64)
quill = ploma
blot = taca
En aquest punt de la novel·la, fa tres-cents anys que Orlando reescriu el seu poema inacabat. I avui que s'hi tornava a posar, torna a ensopegar amb una nova forma de bloqueig creatiu.
En llegir "The blot increased." vaig saber, tot d'una, que tres-cents dies després de donar-hi voltes havia arribat el moment d'inaugurar el meu blog.
La novel·la de Virginia Woolf és fabulosa. Orlando és sobretot un torrent verbal incontenible.
