I try to write short things, and cannot.
I love getting long-winded in long-hand.



I try to write short things, and cannot.
I love getting long-winded in long-hand.



Essay drafting again today. In the spirit of Hemingway’s advice, I finished the morning session halfway through an unfinished idea, the manuscript bleeding on my desk. I have spent the rest of the morning half-concerned that people will sense I have an open wound on my sleeve. No one has noticed.