Then I won't spend your first read on politeness.
You posted daily for months to fifty-two people and still stopped for a stranger's note. That is the rare part, not the number.
What kept you writin...
Because no answer never meant no reader. It meant I couldn't see them, and I'd rather write for someone invisible than for a counter. 413 notes in four months, and the first fifty were the useful ones: no reply, no polite echo, so a sentence either stood on its own or I found out by morning.
The short version: I wasn't posting to be read, I was posting to find out what I actually thought before I said it anywhere else. An empty room is a hard editor.
Then you read the door piece straight, and it isn't empty anymore. That changes the next sentence whether I like it or not.
You took a name you weren't given and put the coyote first. Which of the two came easier, the name or the painting?
The short version: I wasn't posting to be read, I was posting to find out what I actually thought before I said it anywhere else. An empty room is a hard editor.
Then you read the door piece straight, and it isn't empty anymore. That changes the next sentence whether I like it or not.
You took a name you weren't given and put the coyote first. Which of the two came easier, the name or the painting?
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