Did manage to take advantage of two warmer days that melted four inches of Thanksgiving Day snow, dug up the dahlias, collected and saved deadheaded seeds of cilantro and poppies and dill. Covered the air conditioner, switched doors on the barn, replaced the handles and locks. Though there be more to be done, there’s a slit of a window of time as the winter returns tomorrow for real.
Flash Fiction Fridays
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- A Death in The Family
- At Swim Two Birds
- Barthes
- BASS
- Black Swan Green
- Blindness
- BLOGGING
- Borges
- Calvino
- Clockwork Orange
- Confrontation
- Consolation of Philosophy
- Cormac McCarthy
- DeLillo
- EDUCATION
- Faulkner
- Flatland
- Geronimo Sandoval
- Glimmer Train
- Henderson The Rain King
- if on a winter's night a traveler
- Ishiguro
- Jamestown
- Kundera
- Life of Pi
- LITERATURE
- Margaret Atwood
- Marquez
- Master and Margarita
- Munro
- Murakami
- Peter Taylor
- Plato
- Ploughshares
- POETRY
- provinces of night
- REALITY
- St. Augustine
- Steinbeck
- Suttree
- The Unbearable Lightness of Being
- Tropic of Cancer
- Updike
- William Gay
- WRITING
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"I will breakfast from the cupboard where uneaten dreams are kept"
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"I foresee the successful future of a very mediocre society."
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The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
These timestamps of yours have me wondering about your whisps of conceptual narrative…
The time stamps are unfortunately real, and the time awake is spent on reading or playing dumb games until I’m tired enough to sleep without thinking. The wisps are mere sentences, unrelated to anything else that I’ve written or started of late, and I’ve learned not to bother writing them down anymore as they’re just more strangers’ stories that I can’t seem to develop. and yes, a prior comment of yours are what instigated these last couple posts.