I’m listening to the rattle of computer fans. It’s getting louder. So, I’m in the mindset for backups. I have stuff I’m working on that I don’t want to lose. And for me–in the middle of writing a really big, really convoluted novel–it would be lose. There’s no going back and starting over. Just forward.
I hope nobody’s expecting great pictures, but today, I went to see the swans. Today, there are two more swans than there were, last time I was there, and they’re off the nest and swimming around. They’re domesticated swans, swimming in a man-made lake in the cemetery where one of my great-grandfathers is buried. (And
I work with one of those creative types. Always fidgeting with something crafty. Suzy Home-maker putting flowers and bees on chairs and bookshelves. I keep running into that question: What is art? And it bounces around in my mind. There’s a part of me that thinks it’s wholly a matter of taste. Whatever makes you