” To write is to write is to write is to write
is to write is to write is to write.”
She spoke the truth.
Email. Blog posts. Blog comments. Email. Manuscripts. Introductions. Blog posts.
Email. Email. Email.
What happened to reading?
I shall find out.
Pennebaker. The Secret Life of Pronouns.
Connolly, ed. Books to Die For.
Howells. Annie Kilburn. (Again)
James. Portrait of a Lady. (Again)
Wharton. The Custom of the Country. (Again)
Zelvin. Shifting Is for the Goyim.
Kaufman. The Writer’s Guide to Psychology.
Cain. Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking.
Edgerton. Lunch at the Picadilly. (Again)
Where to begin?* Probably not with the Agains. They sing their siren songs, but I mustn’t answer.
Wouldn’t be prudent.
Quiet. That’s the one. In the past three weeks, I’ve had a lot of contact with humans and
too much bustling.
It’s crawl-under-a-rock time. With a book.***
*Experts (says an article on the web) say readers are attracted to lists with numbers in the titles. We’ll see.
**I have other possibilities. These are the ones I can see without getting up and crossing the room.
***I started this post last night but fiddled so long with it that I didn’t have time to read.
I’m still fiddling with it.
But tonight . . .
I love WordPress, but sometimes we disagree about formatting, mostly about position of photographs and about spacing. What I see here on the edit page isn’t always what both of us see on the published page. I have done my darndest to make it do what I tell it to do. At this point, I don’t care. If the post looks funny, please just read it and ignore the WordPress deficiencies. My deficiencies you are welcome to notice and even to point out.