Now and again it is cleansing for a writer to reckon frankly with his or her craft. A few lines from Edna St. Vincent Millay (1939) will serve my purpose well:
For you there is no song,
Only the shaking of the voice that meant to sing,
The sound of the strong voice breaking.
Strange in my hand appears the pen,
And yours broken.
There are ink and tears on the page.
Only the tears have spoken.
Happy New Year, good friends!
*Travelers in desert lands have found it helpful to keep a small pebble on the tongue. It eases the dryness of the mouth and permits the traveler to fasten upon the destination ahead.