Today I'm thankful that 3/4 of the Creative Writing program at Missouri State are men. It's as though I suddenly find myself in possession of 30 new brothers, or having no actual brothers, what I perceive brothers to be like. This one tells me of an animated Anne of Green Gables series, that one promises to bring in a Harry Potter crazy fan documentary for me to borrow. Another makes me a copy of a story that he thinks I will like and that my story harkens to. One I run into all the time so it's as though I'm strangely (and happily) never far from a friend, and still another just walks up to hug me when he feels that my story has been unfairly and unjustly critiqued and tells me not to listen to anything that one (sadly also a male) has said-- which manages to prompt five other people into telling me that they wrote on their critiques that the cad was entirely mistaken.
Truly, also I say unto you that if my pattern of speech does seem most strange, and if it brings unto your mind a different time then the fault solely can be laid at the feet of Shakespeare. A most elevated bard whose plays this very election night I have read and from whom I have only been parted e'en these few blog penning minutes.
Peace be with you.
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