I think it was George Eliot who wrote this, but I may be wrong: 'If I could, I would always write in silence and obscurity and let my efforts be known by their results.' This has been in the back of my mind for the last decade as a kind of artist's creed. You can see how it's worked out for me. I have been writing for a while now, with inconsistent effort and little result. Recently, I started writing with a few friends, employing considerably more effort and considerably less silence. Today was our last day on our first project together. It is finished. Thank you, boys. I am unspeakably grateful to be with you both.
Working at the Main Library has surprising advantages. Just now I stepped out of my office, walked five paces across the hall, scanned a badge, and walked under the civic center plaza to the elevator that stretches from beneath the earth up to the mayor’s office on the fourteenth floor. I didn’t have so far to go—just up one level to the utilities counter, where a sympathetic, amused woman named Sue shut down my gas payments. It took less than five minutes. I finished packing up my kitchen days ago. My cake pans were in boxes sometime early last week. But as I walked through the underground loading dock on my way back to the office, I was distinctly aware of the finality of what I’d just done. I would never, from that moment on, be able to bake for anyone out of that kitchen. Maybe it doesn’t seem like a very big deal, but I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of a certain identity, namely being “the person who bakes a lot”. I made a tiered wedding cake for some friends (because...
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