My image of writing
is still a grizzled old genius by a typewriter; it ought to be the Burning Bush, or a chickadee, or Helen of Troy, or the ocean in fury, or anything besides a living room with a bestseller on the table. more »
My image of writing
is still a grizzled old genius by a typewriter; it ought to be the Burning Bush, or a chickadee, or Helen of Troy, or the ocean in fury, or anything besides a living room with a bestseller on the table. more »