The Cruel Redeemer Column 5

For those of you who expressed an interest in seeing my rough drafts, or for anyone interested in my creative process, I'll post both typed drafts of this next column. Keep in mind I don't start typing until I've handwritten at least one version of the essay, and then it usually changes significantly with each draft. This one in particular showed marked improvement from draft to draft, I think. It occurs to me that none of you probably give two shits about my early, shitty draft; I know I wouldn't if I were you.

OK, in order to redeem this post, let's see what I can wrassle up to talk about.

Borges collection of fiction is the first book in a long time that makes me want to drop everything, get away from the world, and just read read read. There's a sentence or two every page that catches me off guard in completely delightful ways--to sound really British. Seriously, much like Calvino, he's got an incredible knack for turning a sentence on its head or for molding immense complexities into a few words, and all the while the stories he tells are so creative and intriguing that I just can't imagine ever coming up with one, just one, to rival the worst of the hundreds in this book.

Hmm . . . sorry, y'all. This is a throw-away post. I'll come up with something better for tomorrow hopefully.

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