It was hot today. It was 94 when I was driving home from bringing EJ to work this afternoon. I wish they could have been at Writers Read, they would have appreciated the writers, tonight.
I didn't take a Lindy ride, didn't have time. Didn't get to see if the egret was up at the rookery. I'm assuming he was.
This bug, I think it is a type of aphid, is all over the grape vines on the driveway. I've never seen them before but when I got home I noticed these little bumps all over the vines and then when I took the photo I saw all the little bugs. I wonder if I should spray with some dish detergent.
What continues to amaze me about Writers Read is the audience. It is always different, we have some regulars, but often those in the audience are friends of the readers. But people listen with an honesty that is palpable in the room. Tonight I could really feel. I was listening hard, but I could hear those around me listen hard. The writers respond to it. One of them told me she felt like she was dancing with the audience tonight.
I kind of feel there's a next step. Last year when I felt that I invented the anthology. This year the anthology is being compiled as we speak, but there is something else that builds on our conversations with the writers and audiences. It's the researcher in me and the sharer of stories that is being nudged. There are patterns in these evenings, there are patterns to follow and investigate. What are they?
It's like following the progress of the Words on Art on Words, it's fascinating. We definitely have to compile a book. What is it about writers that makes them have to write?
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| photo by Rhys McG. |






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