I am using some words way too much in my current project: offer, feature, site, hipster.  In my defense, Richmond offers glimpses of more wannabe hipsters than other East Coast sites feature, but still. I overused the phrase March Madness in the Spectator Sports chapter and am so tired I substituted “hoops hoopla.” Oy. I suppose I should trademark it and print T-shirts and baseball caps and take it to the bank, but no thanks. It could actually be popular in LA or Louisiana. Dag. Another million dollar idea I don’t care about. Let’s hope somebody has already done it.

This afternoon I was in my office scrounging around for something that I didn’t think was there, but gave a look anyway. Under a few papers something I must have written in the fall–part of a children’s poem or picture book, I don’t even know–poked its cute little crumpled, papery head out.  I read just two typed words and saw scrawled notations in my handwriting scattered about.  Awww.  That’s my kind of writing.

Now I don’t know if it’s because it’s spring or because I didn’t get to bed until 2 a.m. this morning or because I am SUCH a good writer, but man– “bed” and “nest”–those are words.  I can work with them. I got a pang just seeing them there on the page. It didn’t bring tears to my eyes exactly, but just the way they looked–don’t worry, there were other words there, too–but the short lines–the minimalism.  Oh how I miss it. The thought of hanging around with warm and fuzzy words like bed and nest is so appealing right now.  I’m an underwriter at heart, just like my father before me. He was in bonding and insurance. I’m up to my eyeballs in overwriting this guidebook. Oh sure, I can go on. But I’m nearing the stage where my preface will say something like: “Welcome to Richmond. Have a great visit (or life) here. Find your own damned hotel (or house).”  Economy of words–just the way words should work.