While in prison, I read Roland Barthes' Preparation of the Novel. He distinguishes between the Will to Write and the Will to Publish. Before that, I had always subscribed to Samuel Johnson's idea that anyone who did not write for money is an ass. No, some of us need to write to keep ourselves sane. Nevertheless, tonight I spent a considerable amount of time submitting material for publication. I think this proves that I am susceptible to optimism and that I have left my self-destructive ways long behind me.
"No Ordinary Word" went out to:ryga received my play "Getting What You Asked For".
I had forgotten to mention that Middletown Properties sent a repairman on Friday and the oven was fixed. Only come Sunday, it is not. I baked brownies in the toaster oven. I have been waiting on CC, but she just texted that she cannot make it. This is it for tonight.I have sat in this chair long enough.
I really like Willie Nile:
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