I may not be writing much, but I have been sitting at my keyboard for hours, trying.
I try to put the words together well. Some thoughts flash through my mind. I become certain, that somewhere, at a different computer, Susan Straight sits writing. I imagine her prose with a flush of admiring envy. I imagine what she would say of mine and cringe inwardly. Unacceptable. Clumsy. Dull.
Sigh. I'm sure that whatever she is writing right now is much more interesting. Fiction, with conflict and character. Or a first person essay. Filled with voice and telling detail from her life, carefully plucked like red fruit from a backyard tree.
I could be wrong of course. She might be working away on something utterly pedestrian. A course syllabus or a dull departmental memo. A convoluted academic article.
But I like to think that, somewhere in Riverside, SS is typing away. If she can do it, I can too. maybe I can even write something I would be willing to show her.