Poets to come! orators, singers, musicians to come!
Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for,
But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known,
Arouse! for you must justify me.
I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future,
I but advance a moment only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness.
I am a man who, sauntering along without fully stopping, turns a
casual look upon you and then averts his face,
Leaving it to you to prove and define it,
Expecting the main things from you.
This from the great Walt Whitman, via Daily Lit. That is SO how I feel. I scurry out, try to throw in a few words that will give someone a good read, and then run back, looking around, awed at all those writers and artists that are better than I am.
Art is nothing, but what it is in the eye of the beholder.
The Really Nice Person of the Day is ... shhhhhhh, don't tell anyone. She'd be horrified. It'd ruin her reputation. Miss Snark, for linking to this post about an auction to benefit First Books, and for running the Crapometer tomorrow, to help writers who are trying to improve their queries. For being the queen of Snark, she's awful kind to offer so much help and advice to writers.
Man, you know what? I forgot what I was going to write about today. That probably means I should sign off now, LOL.