But a recent hospital visit gave me so much material I could have wept for joy (if I hadn't been so sad).
(Well I know what I mean)
And the sense of mortality has suddenly invigorated me. In a week, despite all these "travails" I've managed to blow the cobwebs off this place, critique a dozen stories (and I mean CRITIQUE, not post a platitude) write three stories (about 8,000 words) a flash and a poem, a few pages on the novel, get 22 submissions out, pick up a hit, and have a load of fun comparing writing sites.
I've hugged my son, my daughter, my wife and not had a single cyber hug.
I dunno, but somehow, flesh is more real than <<<<<
Isn't that quaint of me?