I am in here.
It’s the oak pollen. I swear it is. Breathing it all day has sapped my energy, and Buck’s. All we do is sleep. Or sit here wondering when we can take our next nap. I can’t think of anything to write, but my mind says write about not writing, about the nothingness. Which is good … Continue reading Oak pollen blues
I’ve arrived safely. Slept a lot. Writing much more later…
I am beginning to think writing isn’t so much of a process as a series of beginnings, all strung together. What does this mean? It means (hey, Shirl, pay attention!) that I’ve started writing my alleged book again.
So, okay, according to the response I got from Other Patti (who is wiser beyond her comprehension) (and she should just read this and shut up and not respond), there is a discrepancy between what Other Patti (and lots of other readers, I assume) and I see as the definition of hide. She sees it, … Continue reading commas freedom paragraphs verb
white pebble 