I sat back and tapped the end of my glass pen against my teeth, staring at the dusty fragment in front of me in the Conservancy. The women were four stacks over, just discussing some tricky bit of rebinding without damaging the fragile paper, so yellowed it was brown and inclined to disintegrate, their voices now a fixture in the library so much that I could not imagine the space without it.
My apologies for the late posts: This is Monday's and today's will go up right after I finish writing this. I will be away from internet, working/staying at a friend's cottage with no access so things will be a little off this week.
This weekend is the infamous Muskoka Novel Marathon, where for a ten dollar donation you can watch Karen and I do our thing (writing! writing!) in public.