To lie in wait for one’s mind, pen raised, ready to spear the slightest thought as it surfaces.
— Jules Renard, Journal 1887-1910
Childhood visits to my grandparents usually meant a day at Limestone Springs to fish for rainbow trout. It’s a preserve, so it was about as close to fish jumping into the net as it gets. No sitting in a boat for hours on a lake with nothing to show for it. I’ve spent years ranging far across the internet, stalking skittish herds of thoughts for days if need be. But with intellectual climate change in the past decade or so, the habitat has become desiccated and barren, and the thoughts are sickly, inbred mutants unworthy of an arrow. Hence my idea to build myself a thought preserve and stock it with more short-form writing. I don’t care if it’s unsporting. Sometimes a fellow just wants to cast his line over to the bookshelf and reel in a few plump aphorisms.