I feel a little bit as though I’ve been letting this space languish – my emotions have been so complicated that they overwhelm my analytical mind, so I have been reading, but rarely forcing myself in text to describe what it is about a book or movie or experience that changes me. Though they do.

Just now (in a time & space you cannot see, but I lived through just to get to this line) I wrote three paragraphs about David Markson’s novel Wittgenstein’s Mistress, and my depressed reaction to David Foster Wallace’s (clever & insightful, but somehow hollowing) essay about it. And I thought – this does not read well. The thoughts are too far inside me.

And it is Thanksgiving(ish), and so the idea of fleshing out that complex novel is a bit daunting in the face of baking so many pies.

So know that sometimes what I do not write is me protecting you. And of course, protecting myself & my own time so I can still write fiction and draw comics and do my job. Though that sounds less gallant.

Why am I apologizing for a complaint no one made? Because I imaginatively project thousands of possible realities, everyday, and some of them are stressful.

Well then. Let’s end on a high note. Here is Philip Pullman talking about his revisions of Grimm’s Fairy Tales (!), and also about the fact that he’s writing a new Dark Materials book (!!), and also about the idea of turning His Dark Materials into an HBO-like show (!!!). Please do sir. For the sake of my childishly delighted heart, please do.