Monday, 25 March 2002

I don't read much New Yorker-style fiction. But I enjoyed the Michael Chabon novel I read a few weeks ago so much, I picked up his collection of short stories A Model World at the library, and it consists mostly of stories previously published in the New Yorker. What an odd kind of fiction that is. Now I have an irresistible urge to write a New Yorker-style piece of my own, which is surely a waste of time, because there seems so little chance that the New Yorker would buy it. And yet, irresistible urges being, as they are, irresistible, I just spent an hour and a half or so typing away and have 440 words. It's been great fun so far.

We've been having more evil post-equinox winter weather. In fact, we've had as much winter weather in the first week of spring as we had all winter. Most inappropriate.