'Superior people never make long visits,
have to be shown Longfellow's grave
nor the glass flowers at Harvard
Self reliant like the cat --
that takes its prey to privacy,
the mouse's limp tail hanging like a shoelace from its mouth--
I think that's all I want to say, actually. Not talking about one's fic in progress seems so admirable, and so impossible. Fic-natter is a nervous habit, the kind you try to suppress before interviews- biting your nails or scratching a hangnail or fiddling with your hair. Or nervous-talk, even more: 'You think this top looks good on me? It's not too big? Really it goes with the pants? I'm just not sure about the pants but I can't buy new ones but just these pants I never liked them do you think the pants are OK maybe I should wear a skirt with this top oh but that means nylons...' Necessary somehow but oh how one dumbly admires people who don't do it. Superior people are silent. Some of them are so silent they don't write at all. But that, you know, is the *next* temptation of Christ.