Fiction-wise, what I most need right now: a stretch of uninterrupted time for a read-through. Without it, scenes will keep getting tacked on, with all the characters in search of a definitive landing point. Definitive, in the sense of this specific piece of fiction. Definitive, in the sense of the reader part of the writer saying: OK, I see what this was all about. (Even if other potential readers have another take on the story).

Real-life, overfull with people right now. Friends, acquaintances, strangers – among them, one woman who badgers me with phone calls. Writing classes, please call me back, she pleads two, three times of an evening. (I shut down the phone and find the messages when I re-activate it in the morning.) Or: a friend of a friend gave me your phone  number. I’m looking for…clothes/a place to stay/your presence at my event/an ear in which to pour out my story.

Stories? Everywhere. Packed in to every nook and cranny, behind every closed shutter, every set of eyes, every moment of the day.

Writing classes aren’t my priority. My priority: some head space for the writer to read through her own words.

Perspective, in short.