Prescription For Writer’s Block: Fear Of Poverty.

There Is Nothing Like A Comfortable Adventure To Put People In A Good Humor. . .

Day After Day We Looked For Rain, And Day After Day We Saw Nothing But The Sun. Lavender That We Had Planted In The Spring Died. The Patch Of Grass In Front Of The House Abandoned Its Ambitions To Become A Lawn And Turned Into The Dirty Yellow Of Poor Straw. The Earth Shrank, Revealing Its Knuckles And Bones, Rocks And Roots That Had Been Invisible Before.

Nowadays, If You Have A Journey, Albeit A Simple One, You Consider Yourself Lucky If Nothing Happens.

I Have A Terrible Weakness For Collecting Snatches Of Other People's Conversations, And Occasionally I'm Rewarded With Unusual Fragments Of Knowledge. My Favorite Of The Day Came From A Large But Shapely Woman Sitting Nearby Whom I Learned Was The Owner Of A Local Lingerie Shop. 'beh Oui,' She Said To Her Companion, Waving Her Spoon For Emphasis, 'il Faut Du Temps Pour La Corsetterie.' You Can't Argue With That. I Made A Mental Note Not To Rush Things Next Time I Was Shopping For A Corset, And Leaned Back To Allow The Waiter Through With The Next Course.

Prescription For Writer’s Block: Fear Of Poverty.