The Archivist, by Martha Cooley. (Thanks to Lisa for the loan.)
This is a book that combines an archivist (even better than a librarian,in some ways!), poets, and insanity. My kind of read. I highly recommend it to anyone who has an interest in any of these three things. I guess it was a best seller, and too. I like it in spite of that.
I went to the writer's group meeting tonight (hooray! we're back!) thinking and saying that I had nothing to write, let alone nothing important to write. At all. Like, ever again.
But I came home feeling that I do have things to say, and therefore things to write, and it doesn't even matter who reads those things. Just that I record them.
No, wait. It does of course matter to me that someone else read most of what I write, and that they like it. I'm not that far along the path of enlightenment yet.
Or, in the words of Gir from Invader Zim: "Praise me! PRAISE ME!"
Not that I have ever seen a single Invader Zim episode, mind you. I've just heard that's what he says.
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