Butcher
July 1, 2009
- The leaves of the oak are nothing like the leather of bookbinding. Leather is supple, tactile, pleasing. It gives like the skin it is. The leaves of the oak in autumn stay on the trees. They scrape in the wind like dead crickets. When they fall they don't rot--not quickly--you can crumble them, you can kick them. The leaves of the oak are like butcher paper.
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May 8, 2009
- What's your verb? I love that Nike commercial. Verbs are the cornerstone of good writing. I'm always searching for a better one. Why use walk quickly, when you can say sprint. Or swagger. Or, a personal favorite, sache. But what about the verbs we writers us to describe our profession? You might be a writer if...the verbology you use to describe writing makes you at least sometimes sound ...
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April 2, 2009
- The birds got my onions. I am sure those sleepless hooded insensitve creatures came in the dead of night, swooped down on my little vegetable patch at the end of the garden and made marvellous delicious plans for the menu they were preparing for their midnight feast. Lifting those tiny vulnerable onions into their slimy pointed beaks they must have laughed and cocked their black evil ...
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