It’s Something Unpredictable, But in the End is Right

wikipedia.com

I was in the third grade when I started keeping diaries. I have all of my diaries. I have shoeboxes filled with every letter I’ve received. I have a stack of screenplays, a file of “ideas,” a half-written memoir about an elderly potter and the year I took lessons from him. It’s a graveyard of sorts. A garden of the half-baked, ill-conceived, and woebegone.

What’s in your garden.