I’m sitting here today with what I’ll call the Third Draft of “Grand Exits,” my personal mythology in progress. It’s short. Printed in paperback format, it’s no more than 80 pages. That was my intention — short fables, quick flashes, stones skipping across the surface of deep waters.
I’m reading it out loud to myself again. Best way to cut through the mud.
I like talking into a microphone. It gives me a persona. It makes me feel like more than just a mumbling dweeb talking out loud to myself in an empty room. It make me articulate. It makes me project.