very much a lot yes


First drafts are monsters, right? Or gifts.  Or both. It’s hard to know right now. I have made more stuff in the last few weeks than in months, stuff with teeth, I hope. The looking away that I normally make myself do is no longer an option, but that means I have to look directly at it, which is maybe worse, or better, or both. I bought a copy of Because They Wanted To, by Mary Gaitskill, for three dollars and fifty cents in a basement bookstore, and it feels quick and dangerous and important. I also bought Runaway, by Alice Munro, also for three dollars and fifty cents, in the same basement, even though it’s not on my list of things to read right now, but Alice Munro always makes me feel like I’m falling into pudding, in the best way. Today I went to the bakery to get a  coffee, and the cashier was putting cookies on a long white tray and when I ordered, she nodded and said, “Oh, yes. It’s time for that, right? It’s time.”

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