What Rick said. Plus: Your Substack is among fifteen or so I get, maybe a few more, and they're all by writers and yours is the most consistently well-written--not just typed but edited,, honed, listened to, etc. Please don't tell me you just wing it off the top of the head--I'd find that terribly depressing. There is, as well, the wonderful sandbagging of the reader, vis-a-vis "tick." It's a good example, in miniature, of how book titles sometimes sandbag us--for instance, when way deep into the novel you realize that Sophie does, in fact, have to make a choice.
Well that's very nice of you to say, especially since I just found a bunch of typos! I do try to proofread and generally smooth the edges before I hit publish. I'm glad the sandbagging worked -- that was the goal!
Man, I know, I proofread and proofread and the eye still plays tricks. Sigh. Then you tell yourself, lighten the fuck up, it's just typos . . . but deep down you know better: it's evidence of your worth as a serious writer--serious writers don't make shoddy mistakes, etc. Then you sigh again and wander out for another cup of coffee.
After reading "Tick Tick Tick" I find myself, unexpectedly, laughing at the weirdness of eclipses and the fact that crows are upset at having two mornings on the same day (which I think is very sensible of them) and the things we see yet don't see. I suppose my laughter was relief and joy. Thanks for taking me along on this adventure.
OMG. Beyond the fact that I just loved this gorgeous essay, I related completely to the reality of managing health post-cancer diagnosis. (I didn’t share via email, but my last Substack entry includes a semi-parallel accounting, only without the poetry of yours.)
What Rick said. Plus: Your Substack is among fifteen or so I get, maybe a few more, and they're all by writers and yours is the most consistently well-written--not just typed but edited,, honed, listened to, etc. Please don't tell me you just wing it off the top of the head--I'd find that terribly depressing. There is, as well, the wonderful sandbagging of the reader, vis-a-vis "tick." It's a good example, in miniature, of how book titles sometimes sandbag us--for instance, when way deep into the novel you realize that Sophie does, in fact, have to make a choice.
Does one say, "Hang in there!" to an aerialist?
Hang in there!
Well that's very nice of you to say, especially since I just found a bunch of typos! I do try to proofread and generally smooth the edges before I hit publish. I'm glad the sandbagging worked -- that was the goal!
Man, I know, I proofread and proofread and the eye still plays tricks. Sigh. Then you tell yourself, lighten the fuck up, it's just typos . . . but deep down you know better: it's evidence of your worth as a serious writer--serious writers don't make shoddy mistakes, etc. Then you sigh again and wander out for another cup of coffee.
After reading "Tick Tick Tick" I find myself, unexpectedly, laughing at the weirdness of eclipses and the fact that crows are upset at having two mornings on the same day (which I think is very sensible of them) and the things we see yet don't see. I suppose my laughter was relief and joy. Thanks for taking me along on this adventure.
They really went bonkers for a few minutes. It was great.
How did I miss this! It’s so beautiful and you found a way to describe the shadows. Fringed.
Thank you! Yeah those fringey shadows were a trip :)
OMG. Beyond the fact that I just loved this gorgeous essay, I related completely to the reality of managing health post-cancer diagnosis. (I didn’t share via email, but my last Substack entry includes a semi-parallel accounting, only without the poetry of yours.)
Thinking of you as you approach your scans. ✨✨
Thanks Gina! It's a wild head trip for sure. I am still incredulous that I couldn't see something so clearly right in front of my face ...
Just a proof point of how dramatically cancer changes us, and for how long, I suppose? In that context maybe not surprising at all.
No, sadly not surprising
This was lovely. Thank you. We watched from a boat in Lake Erie. Sun time and moon time coming together. Tick, tick, tick.
Your post reminds me of Frost:
"And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night."
Oh that’s beautiful— thank you!