The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. But where’s the fun in that?
I’ve been working on a long post all day, and I’m thinking of the quip (Hemingway, I think): write drunk, edit sober. I reversed it for this essay, and it shows, and I don’t care.
So yeah, remember how I said I was all in with Drafts, and I would not be switching to Ulysses? Um.
I’m appalled to find I have a book-length ms of work written in 2020. How is this possible? I swear I spent the year hiding in bed or crushed in a chair staring blankly at an unread book. Frankly, I feel a little queasy that this shitshow year has been so productive for me.
Oh, I said I would be talking about pencils, didn’t I? Sorry, it’ll have to wait a little bit longer.
In August 2015, after using Field Notes notebooks for about a year, I began documenting my Field Notes as I moved from one to the next.
But too many are gone without having been replaced, and we are poorer and more vulnerable for it.
We’re over two months into my bookmark tour. I have four envelopes stuffed with bookmarks, including one filled with dozens from Powells alone.
So… what am I using in the book I’m reading right now?
File Under: “The Cobbler’s Children Go Barefoot”
Well, that was fun: I flipped through a bunch of books and took a bunch of pictures. Buckle up. Three bookmarks down, fifty-nine to go.