Friday, January 18, 2013
January 18, 2013
Empty promise of snow. I sigh to think that, because of the restored streetlight, the progress of the moon will no longer be visible across my yard. This week has been long, and is not yet over. My reaction to the vandal editing was less sharp than it needed to be. I have a fuse too long and slow for my own benefit, sometimes. People need to believe me when I say that the central quality of my public persona is forbearance. Maud in the kitchen making music by whacking around a spent paper towel cylinder.
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1 comment:
As Elmore Leonard once said, “If I come across anything in my work that smacks of ‘good writing,’ I immediately strike it out.” Or at least let your editor murder your darlings for you, if you can't.
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