Hey, it's Sunday, NYT Day for me. Before I swam this morning I blogged a lot, but in my head not in cobwebblog. I had a lot to assimilate and mull over, not quite ready for a blog. All in good time. But then the NYT changes my tone and mind-set radically, depending on who gets to me. I am so tired of being urged to read this or that novel, of fearless, thought-provoking , gripping, captivating, engrossing, compelling work that I can't afford to miss. I feel alternately brow-beaten and humbled. Well, one can only go so far. I must have catch-points along the way, to grasp or hang onto, that guide me to where I'm going. Where am I going? I don't read as other people do, or for the same reasons, but then, I suppose no one does. That's why there are so many disparate and multitudinous audiences. I guess that'a a good thing, though, as a writer, I find it a bit daunting. I guess I haven't found my audience, that is, people who read me. On the other hand, a lot of writers have found me. Some one has to.