I'd meant to write this thing about the Sharks guys coming here and hockey and settling in, and I'm working on that, but right now this is what I'm saying instead.

**

(an answer)


I roar conversationally.

I'm not sure how to really even modulate anymore, written or otherwise; it's all this massive amount of *talk*, which is I guess one of the occupational hazards of being a writer. Of being me.

As you've by now observed, however, it's its own sort of baffle. There's so much so loud you might miss the important stuff, in fact I generally count on that.

Like right now. Four paragraphs in and you're still reading but, really? I haven't said a damn thing.


I wrote this post a few times. A lot of long versions.

What is telling is what is most brief. You will know what I mean when you read this, and maybe the weight of it is too much, but I don't think so. I think you already know.


Listen:

None of it, not a word, not a single word, is fiction.



**
- posted by Kate @ 10:00 PM