And there are no letters in the mailbox,
and there are no grapes upon the vine,
and there are no chocolates in your boxes anymore,
and there are no diamonds in your mine.
L. Cohen

I'm quoting that song because that's exactly how I don't feel.

There are some days when words work so well together that I feel like a prospector striking a rich seam. Each extracted gem reveals a new intriguing or entertaining idea. The only effort required is cutting and polishing and setting in jewelry. I'll have something to show for my effort within a couple of weeks.

Of course, demands on my time mean that I can't keep on prospecting. When I return, will I find that seam again or the usual low-yield lode?


I read on the Internet that the more brilliant you are, the more you doubt yourself. Not, of course, that I believe everything I read on the Internet, but who knows? Maybe it's true. Maybe you're really this century's Chaucer.

I wish.
Maybe if I build up and maintain the delusion for long enough...