Slow day. Socked in, again. Rain, humidity, and a deep gray sky have settled over everything. The Front Range is white with clouds and mist, and the Peak has disappeared all together. It’s a good day for a book. Too warm for a fire.
Re-read Tobias Wolff’s “Desert Breakdown, 1968” this morning before leaving for work. The story about a young husband, home from Vietnam, wondering whether he should ditch his pregnant wife and son. Young writers talk about authenticity. Wolff’s voice is as authentic as it gets.