The book is well under way.
The publishers couldn't be happier.
The bad news...
The deadline is March 15th! And I'm still writing, re-writing and editing.
Some days I swear that I can't pull one more coherent thought out of my head, the next day the words come so fast and furious that I can't write them quickly enough. What I have now is such a jumble that I'm not even sure I can re-organize it. What I need is an assistant. And a new mini recorder, mine chose the worst possible time to conk out.
Among the unbound fragments
found after Emily Dickinson's death
is a small slip of paper that reads only,
"But ought not the amanuensis to receive a commission also --"
I'm no Emily Dickinson, but I completely understand.
I've come to believe that dictation is the ultimate act of love.
To have someone who cares for your words enough to make that sacrifice is a precious gift that cannot bear the weight of a price tag, nor can it be given enough gratitude.
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Ramstein Flugtag 1988
