December 31, 2017
I can’t pretend it’s been an easy year. The second half of the previous year was a truculent wayfaring in which I barely managed to extract my mother from the dire circumstances in which she had voluntarily committed herself. Salvaging her meager estate was no small challenge, and I found myself last January on my hands and knees, shoving into garbage bags the detritus left behind by a sibling. The year ended with my sister-in-law’s belabored passing, and then the sudden death of a much admired colleague.
Yesterday evening, though, I received a link to an article that has just been published in the Los Angeles Review of Books, a publication which I supported with monthly donations for quite some time, but which I no longer have the luxury of doing. I assume that others who are prospering more in this so-called “boom” economy will pick up the slack. Any publication that carries articles such as Chuck Rosenthal’s homage of William Gass deserves to survive without having to hold constant fundraisers.
If you wish to pour yourself a nostalgic libation, and savor some fine writing, here is a link that will give you a glimpse at how writers manage to find each other when they most need that abutment.
Happy new year!
About Bill Mohr