three months immense

Rilke reflects “the summer was immense” but this year brought a three-month fall. Three months of crisp-not-cold air, three months of tiredgreen-gold-orange-crackling leaves. The marigolds and pansies still haven’t given up. September football and the last of the goldenrod in Pennsylvania. November football and the last tailgate of the season. For Thanksgiving, it was still fall in Iowa, which is not always the case. This year I’m thankful for a fall so immense. So immense that, for the first time in many years, I’m ready for Christmas. Lord, it is time.

(The tree is at Mount Vernon, George Washington’s estate south of D.C. We visited it with good friends, on a warm Sunday in early November.)

best drawer ever

I definitely feel more inspired!

the (non)writing life

The past couple of weeks I’ve been thinking about writing, and why I don’t do much of it. There’s the “I’ve developed A.D.D.” theory—more on that later, when I can focus and explain—and the excuse that my editing and research at work (always due asap) doesn’t leave me with enough intellectual energy to spit anything else out at the end of the day. These two excuses are linked, of course.

A recent New York Times article explored why good writers often aren’t good conversationalists or speakers. Arthur Krystal recounts watching an interview on TV with Vladimir Nabokov:

"But wait! What’s that Nabokov’s doing with his hands? He’s turning over index cards. He’s glancing at notes. He’s reading. Fluent in three languages, he relies on prefabricated responses to talk about his work. Am I disappointed? I am at first, but then I think: writers don’t have to be brilliant conversationalists; it’s not their job to be smart except, of course, when they write."

I’m a big conversationalist, so I wonder if the flip side might also be true—do extroverts who love to talk have a harder time writing well? Writing requires discipline, regardless of your temperament, but perhaps those in “blah blah blah” mode need an extra nudge.