The Day of Rest

This is the summer of NO EXCUSES. The summer of the HARD WAY. Uh, the summer of... Summer's almost over. No, it's not, but it feels like it is. A cool 72 or so in Chicago. Hello there. Yes, we are back from our break. How did it go? The summer of NO EXCUSES. NO MORE BACKPED'LING. NO MORE OFF-THE-RECORD INTERVIEWS.

No one has ever interviewed us about this site. I'd like to keep it that way. Primarily because...

_ We accept no advertising money. Thus...
_ Allowing us to comment without hinderancesthesummerofNOMOREHANDOUTS.

You heard it here, folks. NO MORE DICEY BUSINESS VENTURES. Look at my investment sheet. Look at our investment line. Read this for me. Tell me how much I've thrown away already FY2006. NO MORE SEASONAL ACCOUNTANTS. Full-time. Yes. And...

All right. We didn't go to California (NO MORE MAGAZINE SUBSCRIPTIONS)
Woundup is a coward. Even with his little pills he couldn't do it. I'm not going to dwell on this, only that this site, its creator, its staff... can only hope to be better. That's called the summer of being through with all of Our Hangups. All right.

That isn't one word, by the way.

Good to talk to Ted, Tim (by internet), my mother and youngest brother, father-in-law today. And JR, who tipped me off about William Gaddis. The summer of the big books.

"I really want to read something big this summer. No more excuses. No more fluff. This is the summer of buckling down and..."

Good. Yes. Keep working, Chicago. Keeping on work. Focusing. Keeping off the scrap heap. Keeping on your medication. Playing for keeps. I always play for keeps. This site... its longtime administration, its many and varied staff of burnout writers... all ways plays for keeps. Yes.