About writing and literature, words that play for fun, and words that get serious.
About finding a literary agent, a publisher, or a literary magazine who will notice what I do.
About time I started a blog, after thinking about it for weeks.
About 75 degrees outside (that could change).
About a guy who moved from Georgia to Pennsylvania.
About to open a can of whoop-ass on these guys talking loudly at the next table over here at the cafe, if they don’t just once, even by accident, say something interesting.
About what color your eyes are, and mine are blue.
About sitting in silence for an hour at a time, thinking and occasionally focusing on my breathing.
About two more weeks till the arts festival, which I love, and there is a guy who comes up from Georgia, who, we have clearly established, does not know my aunt.
About three decent cafes in this town, which is not enough for a guy who lives alone in a dark apartment.
About to put the kayak on top of the car and head off for the afternoon, if the weather stays good.
About writing short stories, and shorter stories, and novels, and essays, and poems, one bad play, two one-act opera libretti, newspaper articles, and for that matter, academic journal articles.
About a basically cheerful nature most of the time, in spite of living on this planet.
About being grateful, on rare occasions, to hold someone’s hand.
About wondering how we can possibly exist, and how can that not mean something.