Writer I like

Anne Lamott is one of my favorite writers, in part because she writes things like this: “Left to its own devices, her mind is a fat hummingbird flitting
through leafy trees of anxiety, apology, sorrow, excuses, and dreams
of grandeur, dreams of humiliation. Sometimes she watches it run off,
and it makes her laugh and shake her head. It’s like a video game.
Bright fast blips of worry and anger come at her, and, after fending
them off, she’s attacked by the huge lumbering Czechoslovakian blobs
of tiredness and broken-spiritedness which break into small, faster
missiles of regret when she fires at them. What a half-baked species
we are, she thinks, and does what she can to make her insides more
habitable. ”

She’s coming to Writers on the Record, which was sold out by the time I called for tickets. Sigh.

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