A Dentist Is Only Half The Doctor

Baseball Is The Slow Creation Of Something Beautiful. It Is The Almost Boringly Paced Accumulation Of What Seems Slight Or Incidental Into An Opera Of Bracing Suspense. The Game Will Threaten Never To End, Until Suddenly It Forces You To Marvel At How It Came To Be Where It Is And To Wonder At How Far It Might Go. It’s The Drowsy Metamorphosis Of The Dull Into The Indescribable.

Names Generate Meaning In A Short Amount Of Space — They Provoke Thoughts, Questions. That's Something I Like Doing. Of Course, You Have To Be Careful. Sometimes It Can Alienate The Reader, It Can Be Another Level Of Mediation, To Make A Character Carry The Great Burden Of A Metaphoric Name. The Character Can Be A Device Before He Or She Becomes A Person, And That Can Be A Bad Thing For A Writer Who Wants To Offer Up A Kind Of Emotional Proximity In The Work. It's A Constant Struggle, The Desire To Be Playful And The Desire To Communicate On Some Very Stark Emotional Level.

Everything Was Always Something But Something – And Here Was The Rub – Could Never Be Everything.

Some Days Felt Longer Than Other Days. Some Days Felt Like Two Whole Days. Unfortunately Those Days Were Never Weekend Days. Our Saturdays And Sundays Passed In Half The Time Of A Normal Workday. In Other Words, Some Weeks It Felt Like We Worked Ten Straight Days And Had Only One Day Off.

We Were Fractious And Overpaid. Our Mornings Lacked Promise. At Least Those Of Us Who Smoked Had Something To Look Forward To At Ten-fifteen.