Secateurs: Taking the Shears to Butterfly Blooms and Other Thoughts about Writing

By Ann V. Klotz

Before the long weekend, I am waiting to load the car, corral three cats into cages, leash the dogs and begin a long drive. Waiting does not come easily to me. In March, I had a trapeziectomy on my right thumb. I am a writer who has been unable to write—by hand—for more than three months—a quarter of a year, the length of the first trimester of a pregnancy, the first 100 days by which a new President is judged. And I’m mad that my hand still refuses to do what I tell it.

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