I'm so happy today. I found two (yes, two!) holes in the floor for my cello endpin to rest on.
I despise rambling. Especially for the sake of making noise because the rambler can't stand a quiet room. Noise has its place elsewhere, like construction sites or presidential speeches. In other places, I would rather rest my ears than pollute them with senseless racket.
So I got the following e-mailed to me today:
Stephen King will bow out of writing for publication when five books, including a collection of short stories, are completed, he told an interviewer from the Los Angeles Times. Two of the volumes are scheduled for 2002. Vowing never to go back and rehash material from previous books, he will adhere to the old vaudeville adage of "Always leave them laughing when you say good-bye."
I don't understand. Why would a writer just give up writing? Writing, I think, is supposed to be a compulsive terminal disease. You can never get rid of it. If he still wants to write for publication, why doesn't he just switch genres? He could start writing romance novels or children's books. Maybe he could try non-fiction. Better yet, how about cook books? I'd bet he would make great competition--Martha Stewart would start quaking in her boots instead of trying to decorate them.
