I’ve been silent awhile, mostly because I’ve had nothing of substance to say—a state I get into fairly frequently, truth be told. Prisoners in old movies would knot bed sheets together while painstakingly working the bars on their windows loose; in slightly less aged movies, prisoners work bricks free from a wall and spend years digging their way to freedom with a spoon. Me: I read books. Books and magazines and blogs. Eventually there’s a flash of hope: the bars come loose in my hands, or a streak of dusty light appears at the end of the tunnel.Read More