Happy Phantom.

Ever feel like you're invisible? Or disappearing?

For some reason I am dealing with that today. Not really so much depressed as feeling like I am fading out. I suppose this light melancholy can be attributed to all the dreaded examination of old memories for something I am working on. I much prefer to keep it light and fun, but then the work does tend to feel a bit less sincere. Although I am not a strict believer in auto-biographical navel-gazing as the only way to write fiction, and I am not always on board with a hermeneutic reading of texts, there are just too many examples of writing being informed by actual author experience that it simply cannot be discounted as a methodology or practice, and it certainly cannot be dismissed out of hand as a way to interpret texts, even though some holdouts of the New Criticism would have it be so.

How about that for too many words to say one thing?