Here in Providence, there's not much more green to be had. There's still a lot of icy snow on the ground, most of it frozen rock hard. We'll get a little more snow this weekend. Currently, it's 34˚F, with the windchill at 25˚F. In Birmingham, where they've been having a cold snap, it will be 68˚F today. Here, it will be 37˚F, with our shitty rind of frozen snow.
One of the lessons that all writers need to learn, it is the height of folly to read the work of a greater author that you can ever be while trying to get a new novel started. In this case, Cormac McCarthy.
I thought I had things to say this morning, but now that it comes time to actually say them, it just isn't happening. I shouldn't have looked at the weather report for Birmingham. I shouldn't have finished the first section of The Crossing before I'd even had a chance to fight back the morning's round of withdrawal sickness.
Oh, there was one bright spot to yesterday. My contributor's copy of Melanie Tem's The Singularity and Other Stories (Centipede Press). I wrote the afterword, which, really, was a poor excuse for repaying a great debt.
Resistance, Peace, and Compassion,