While I was sick, I forgot to open the curtain in my office, and the leaves on the tree outside my window went from green the shriveled and brown in a few days. I don't know what sort of tree it is. The leaves don't turn. Anyway, now I'll be looking at the leafless, barren, stark trunk until fuck knows when next year. April or May 2014. Five years ( Read more... )

Yesterday was the sort of writing day that would make me love my vocation, if only every writing day were like yesterday. But in truth, yesterday was the rarest sort of writing day. One in which I allowed myself to disregard the shoddy artifices of story and plot. One in which I let myself wander freely in mood and language, image and theme. The ( Read more... )