"Why do they [write] for their money? Why do they [work] for short pay? They ain't getting nowhere and they're losing their share. They must have gone crazy back there." — Michael Burton (paraphrased)
Clinton, South Carolina, Monday, January 16, 2017, 9:52 a.m. On Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I write. On Inauguration Day, I shall write. Other than that, the bookends of the weekdays have nothing in common. Writing must be the tie that binds. Writing must be the salvation of sanity. I must find comfort in writing. …
Continue reading Things Could Be Worse, but It Takes Imagination
Clinton, South Carolina, Thursday, January 12, 2017, 11:50 a.m. I am in a state of paralysis. I haven’t ground completely to a halt. In half a day, I’ve written 305 words of fiction. They’re 305 decent words, so, like Bill Murray in Caddy Shack, I’ve got that going for me. I am depressed. Not clinically …
Nightrider's Lament 