This piece of earth I billet grows small. Bullets of time dart past, dropping shards of opportunity at my feet. And until the rift that surrounds my decaying body clamps shut—swallows me up like so many remains—I army on, simultaneously ignoring and saving my comrades in the hole.
Such is a writer’s life.

Chila Woychik

Mots clés writing creativity writing-life rats writing-process on-being-a-rat

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I read a book, am vortexed in with no escape; my face contorts, eyelids frost, breath comes short, body longs, heart stop-starts. Who’s to say too much won’t kill me? Who’s to say I care?

Chila Woychik

Mots clés writing writing-life rats writing-process on-being-a-rat writing-extremes

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The second rat, of course, may have been the first rat farther uptown, in which case I am either being followed or the rat keeps the same rounds and hours I do. I think sanity, however, is the most profound moral option of our time. Two rats, then.

Renata Adler

Mots clés sanity cities rats

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