Greetings, book people!
I had an essay planned for today about Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, queer subtext, and what it means to read the past. I still plan to write it, but not today.
It snowed about 30” at my house on Monday night and Tuesday. I live in the woods at the top of a hill. The power went out sometime early Tuesday morning, and it’s still out. I’ve spent the last day and a half curled up in my bed under two comforters, snuggling with my doggo to stay warm.
I love winter, and a bad storm isn’t going to change that. Being without heat, water, a way to cook, internet, and cell service isn’t that much fun. But I’m okay. Thanks to my neighbor (he’s plowed four times in this storm alone), I finally got my little car down the long dirt driveway, and I’m settled into a cafe for the afternoon to get some work done.
I love living where I do, nestled among beech and hemlock woods, up in the hills. I don’t mind the weather we get, even though the past few days have been rough, on top of …
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