Pulling extra shifts is nice for the bigger paychecks, but I swear, I feel mentally flabby when I have to go a few days without having time to read and write. As Mark Sandman once wailed, don’t they know that I’ve got other plans? Well, truth be told, I have been able to spend a few hours here and there on the web, but I’ve come away with nothing to show for my efforts but familiarity with the latest fútbol transfer market rumors, the latest evidence of irredeemable shitheelery from certain FTB bloggers, and the usual digital detritus, none of which is conducive to my practice.
You lovely people don’t come here for that sort of frippery, do you? Of course not; you come here to delight in my prose stylings, and who could blame you for refusing to settle for less. But while I recover from this busy week and prepare for the upcoming one, I will offer, in lieu of my own writing this fine day, some writing about writing which I’ve read and appreciated: Manjula Martin considering the ways in which a dreaded “day job” keeps writing from disappearing up its own Platonic ideal, and Freddie Dee Bee taking a hammer and chisel to your whole identity as a writer to see if anything is left once he’s done.