I don't want to talk about it.

Here's a funny thing. Generally, once I've posted something on this journal, I find that I don't really want to talk about it. I might occasionally send a note to a few people and make sure they've read the post, but that's usually it. I think I've got this stuff in my head, all crashing into the other stuff in my head, and it feels so good to sort of spew it out here. Once I've done that, I feel pretty well purged. Sometimes the notion won't let me go, and then I write about it again. But I rarely talk about it.

I'm not sure what that means; what it says about me. Nothing healthy, I imagine.

Another funny thing? If you tell me you're reading my book, I will never, ever ask what you thought. This is different from the poor souls who are trapped in my brain trust. I never, ever stop asking them what they think. But someone who has picked up a copy of my work and invests the time to read it...I kind of figure that's between the individual and the pages. And I don't want anyone to feel awkward bumping into me at the grocery store, I guess.

So, for someone so opinionated and philosophical, I can be extremely closed off. Maybe that's part of the problem. That and the whole Jean Rhys model, which I'm still not willing to follow.

Food for thought, anyway. But not for conversation. Oh, no.