GIVING TO AIRY NOTHING
Sometimes, especially when I’m in the middle of reading a book where the writing just blows me away, where every word seems so perfectly chosen and polished and dovetailed to a plumb with all the other words, in a way that I wouldn’t have thought to use it, in a way that is so fresh and so right that it nearly makes my hair stand on end, then I can’t imagine ever writing again myself. How could I? It’s not that I think that I have to write as perfectly as some of the writers I admire most, or even...