So far, too, this is getting the award (derision?) for shortest post ever.
Anyway, lost in the surf of Duma Key right now, and looking forward to snagging The Plague of Doves afterwards. Writing this novel too all the while, which I just keep expecting to self-destruct. But somehow it just keeps unfolding. And I guess that’s good, but, too, I’m about the last person in this situation who’d know, either.
Gone already. Hope the essaything stanches the flow a bit. Of bad prose, I mean. As to why it’s an ‘essaything’ and not just a ‘craft essay,’ too: it’s that I don’t write essays. A wholly foreign mode. I do, however, occasionally write something with no characters, no plot, just this monologue grappling through some idea or another. Which is what “As I Lay Mostly Dying” is. Oh, and if there’s anybody out there who doesn’t get the “lolly lolly”-bit, just click here, let the happiness wash over you.