I Have A Very Set Routine. I

Next To The Defeated Politician, The Writer Is The Most Vocal And Inventive Griper On Earth. He Sees Hardship And Unfairness Wherever He Looks. His Agent Doesn’t Love Him (enough). The Blank Sheet Of Paper Is An Enemy. The Publisher Is A Cheapskate. The Critic Is A Philistine. The Public Doesn’t Understand Him. His Wife Doesn’t Understand Him. The Bartender Doesn’t Understand Him.

Prescription For Writer’s Block: Fear Of Poverty.

I Have A Very Set Routine. I Work Six Days A Week, But Only Half Days. I Work From 9 In The Morning Till 1 In The Afternoon, Without Any Interruptions, A Fair Slug.

Day After Day We Looked For Rain, And Day After Day We Saw Nothing But The Sun. Lavender That We Had Planted In The Spring Died. The Patch Of Grass In Front Of The House Abandoned Its Ambitions To Become A Lawn And Turned Into The Dirty Yellow Of Poor Straw. The Earth Shrank, Revealing Its Knuckles And Bones, Rocks And Roots That Had Been Invisible Before.

Sundays In France Have A Different Atmosphere To Other Days, With Fewer Phone Calls, No Postman, No Delivery Men And No One Banging On The Door.