A Gallant Gesture

I did not do much writing yesterday. I only scribbled down some scraps of random scenes and dialogue that came into my head. These were not meant for my novel, but can hopefully be incorporated into other projects one day. I am not taking any chances; I am writing down every idea that comes into my head to matter how miniscule, inane, or insane.

The bulk of my time yesterday was taken up by reading. I finished Three Years by Chekhov. In the story, he captures the essence of life's one true struggle: wanting to be "there" instead of "here" and if you have the will and get "there," then wanting to be somewhere else. It is so true that no matter where we are in life, no matter how well we have it, there is always so struggle, strife, or at least an mild aching dissatisfaction.

I then began reading some stories by Canadian author Mavis Gallant. They come from her collection Varieties of Exile. She is a very concise writer. Not a word is wasted, and she tells great stories. More much later tonight, at the stroke of midnight or thereafter . . .