Several things have been waiting on my list for nearly a month now, but between the Manhattan/Long Island trip, the school load and teaching it’s all backlogged, leaving a void that’s ready to implode like that house. Black critique ink covers the pages of fiction from the New Yorker issues I’ve yet to analyze. Three movies call my name from afar: The King’s Speech, True Grit & Exit through the Gift Shop. In the corner of the house, the Harvard Classics echo that call, begging for May 23rd.
My novel’s at a stopping point (NO it’s not writer’s block… it’s merely a temporary pausal form of the language I’m using… stretched over two weeks). The Cartographer’s Guild encouraged me by praising my map. The Wise Man’s Fear discussion kept me occupied until I picked up A Game of Thrones, then the muse who analyzes literature on the white shores
of my mind went into angsty-conflicted mode and freaked out (explaining the lull in my alchemy posts). The 46 @ 23 poetry thing kept a frequent flow of poetry, but let’s face it – the only people who read poetry, write poetry.
As a result, I’ve posted few quality thoughts of late and this is something of an apology for the handful of you that read this puppy consistently. Ironically, the last few weeks doubled the amount of hits on the site, but I attribute that mainly to the words “sex” and “kvothe” being used in the same breath.
I hope, after the 46 @ 23 gig to get back on pace for the usual, but as for now, suffer through the lull with me. The end is in sight.
With love from your home-grown subversive Literator,
Lancelot.
