After taking a week or two off for the holidays, I'm back in action once again. The holidays were spent with close family, a box of wine, and a hot tub (convincing my son that fearsome, man-eating manitees roamed the hot-tub actually increased, not decreased, his desire to swim in it). I ended up with a copy of Herman Hesse's
Steppenwolf in my hands, which my sister-in-law brought with no intention of reading
. Meanwhile, my wife, who is deeply convinced of my untested ability to write fiction, informed me on Christmas Eve that she wanted a short story for her Christmas present. I began promptly, and two days later had 3-4 pages of what I thought was a knock-dead story. I was then informed that my story was 'revolting' and 'disgusting' and that she had no intention of reading past the second page. What can I say?: I'd been staying up late reading the Steppenwolf for three days straight.
I also brought with me something a little more uplifting: The Venerable-soon-to-be-Blessed John Henry Cardinal Newman's
Apologia Pro Vita Sua. I'll have more on that in a bit. In short, the more things change, the more they stay the wame.
