Notes

Briefly: I apologize for anyone who is having trouble commenting on my blog. Something seems to be wrong between Blogger and Internet Explorer, and I haven't quite figured out what. I'm looking into it, though.

Last week proved a little hard on both my fellow blogalecticians, thanks to the 'weather' that everyone's under this time of year. Masha got up a sweet post on myth as imaginative reality, a day late. Mr. Pond requested, and was granted, the week off, which means that Masha and I now get a break likewise. Look for Mr. Pond's post later this week.

If you want something to read, though, Eric recently forwarded me Philip Yancey's article on The Writer as Artist, which I've loved and considered one of the best available short works on writing since I read it in First Things. If I'd known it could be found on the internet, I'd have linked it before now.

"There is a time for goads, and a time for nails; there is also a time to recognize that artists are scribbling in the sand, filling the interstices of life, knowing that their creation will be stepped on, and washed away by raindrops. 

In full awareness of its limited role, though, I am convinced that we need... now more than ever the kind of art that humbly fills spaces in our lives."

Enjoy.