Twitter has become a lovely garden of interesting things for me to read. I’ve had to weed it a bit, and could still weed it some more, but it’s getting pretty reliable: just enough news to not live under a rock and, best of all, a few choice specimens to harvest and eat — immediately.
Between other things — seeing if we can buy a house or not, shameless self-promotion, e-mail correspondence, eating Doritos, writing a letter, drinking sweet tea, more self-promotion — I’ve been reading interviews today. Memoirs, retrospectives, and any form of self-disclosure are generally my favorites things to read, so it’s been a good day. (I like to say that autobiographies are my favorite form of fiction. Because they are.)
I think it’s well worth reading more than once.
At the end of the interview, like the proverbial rainbow, sits a pot of gold: more interviews! It turns out that they have a series going on. “The Art of Humor;” Allen’s is entry numero uno. I am about to read some of the others from “The Art of Fiction.”
I’ll begin with Borges, of course.