In Search of Writers’ Haunts
I seek out the haunts of writers because pursuing the paths of those who have gone before affords me a degree of justification in my own pursuits.
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“Who Will There Be to Talk To?”
My dad is not a writer, though his camp letters to me many years ago betrayed an ability to fashion the written word in a surprisingly vigorous manner, particularly when stacked up against the troubled verb conjugations of his spoken words. “What do you mean, Dad, a manuscript?” I asked.
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A Harbored Notion
It would be a pity should your books sink to the depths in the fuselage belly along with your neatly folded underwear. It could happen.
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Literature is a Manner of Completing Ourselves: A Reader’s Year
If I were an addict, I would get high and while high, presumably, worry about where I was to get my next fix. Reading is not all that different, I think. As a reader, I am always looking over the binding thinking about the next read, in some instances, longing for it. Some books, like some highs, are better than others. But even with not-so-good books, I will come back to the drug, seeking the next high.
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