Woke up at 9 am this morning from a nightmare about being at my old job, saw HUGE snowflakes filling the window; wtf, blizzard? Went back to sleep, woke up ninety minutes later, the sky and streets were clear. Feel like I'm losing my mind.
This essay is the best response I've read to the Katie Roiphe sex-writing essay that appeared in the New York Times a few weeks ago. Of course I like it; it's full of James Salter appreciation.
Odd how at least three people have brought up Stephen King's On Writing to me in unrelated recent conversations. I own it but haven't read it. I guess I will, starting now.