Friday, October 27, 2006

 

Fragile Things

I don't know what to write . . . I don't know what to write . . . I don't know what to write. I knew what I wanted to write yesterday, but the yester has passed and I didn't post then because I'm being strict about not spending every living moment in front of a glowing screen. Blogging has made me much more fond of pen and paper. Easier on the eyes, easier on the neck and shoulders.

Speaking of neck and shoulders, I finally found a new chiropractor who adjusted me the way my old chiropractor did - tweaking every little bone and joint - putting my ribs back into place (yes, ribs can go out) - loosening up my locked shoulder. After the adjustment, I just wanted to sleep. Haven't done that yet, although I did doze while reading Neil Gaiman's new collection of short stories, Fragile Things. Trust me, it wasn't the book that made me doze. I was fighting adjustment-induced sleepiness in order to finish reading a story. Gaiman's a fine writer. I love the tenor of his stories - all the mysticism, myth and creepiness, but not malicious in the way slasher films are. Gaiman has another collection of short stories, Smoke & Mirrors, that I equally enjoyed. He gives a brief explanation to each story in the intro. I find myself reading the explanation right before I dive into a story, which gives me a nice background to keep in mind - a frame of reference, if you will. Author explanations are fun. Period.

I aspire to Neil Gaiman's ability. Perhaps it will come to me as I dream . . . .

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