Words, Words, Words

The truth is, I love them. Whether they're someone else's or my own, I love words, and today is set aside for them.
First, I want to read my classmates' critiques of the essay I workshopped in Creative Nonfiction (a Sewanee School of Letters class) yesterday. The oral comments were helpful, especially those given by the instructor, John Jeremiah Sullivan. Based on what I heard, I've already spent about two-and-a-half hours this morning revising "The Second Time." Now I need to read.

Second, I will read and respond to the essays by two classmates scheduled for workshop Thursday.

And third, I am desperate to return to The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, a beautiful ("Time thickened like wet cement") novel I started Sunday. I am torn between slowing down to savor (I don't want to finish the 562-page book too quickly) and speeding up to drown in the story, characters, and language. This is a good problem to have -- the compulsion to read in the mind even when the words aren't visible.