It's been a goodly while since I've thought as a critical writer, but happening on some David Sedaris, I was reminded that my morning walk generally has more adventure, absurdity, oddity, context, and general literary interest than is in a great many significant works of literature.
Which is not to compare myself to acclaimed, good, or popular authors of the McEwan or Cheever or Munroe ilk, but to remind myself that the nascent literary training, techniques, and inclinations have a hyperabundance of material as soon as the act of living leaves energy to reflect thereupon.
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