When I thought of the cataracts of books, the Niagaras of books, the rushing rivers of books, the oceans of books, the tons and truckloads and trainloads of books that were pouring off the presses of the world at that moment, only a very few of which would be worth picking up and looking at, let alone reading, I began to feel it was admirable that he hadn’t written it. — Joseph Michell, Joe Gould’s Secret

This summer I turned in a bravura performance of non-writing. I’ve probably conceived, thought through, and in some cases even started typing at least fifteen posts over the past three months. Of all the posts I didn’t write, I liked the one I am not going to be writing here the best.