Skies and writers

It has snowed off and on today, and now the sky is that winter white that can't quite be believed -the harshness of it, and the beauty at the same time. (Rather like a cruel woman I suppose- how they still get the man - I don't know). It's dazzling, the way the light cuts. Then the sky bleeds yellow bile, and maybe that's the thing - the way men like to be exposed - that underbelly, how rancid and yet staggering. oh, my. Ha.

I am trying to take stock of what is good today (I have an abscess tooth which has drained into a hard ball at my glands, which isn't part of the stock-taking, actually, on account of not being able to tuck my chin to my chest - which almost anyone would say is a good thing to be able to do, at least on a whim, right?)- anyway, I am thinking of two things: one - I have an office (with a view of a sky undergoing a rocky new relationship to its new season, and I have writers. (The unpaid, beloved friend variety, who cannot go on strike).

They are both writing novels that the world will one day read. I believe this. I hope this. My friend MCR's book will populate your mind with people you believe you could have known in your life. They are real people - truer than the flesh and blood variety - and more thoroughly entwined with each other, and, ultimately, your heart, than anyone who answers when you call.

The other novel will pull you into a world you will have no choice but to believe exists. oh, to go to that place and come back. Ah.