Fifty weeks ago I turned my personal Substack into a Catching Foxes’ Substack. I can assure you that desperation, acedia, and a desire for something other than reality motivated me to make that change. Isn’t that exhausting?
I feel exhausted. Not the “butter stretched out over over too much bread” exhaustion. It’s the “Hersey bar presentation while my hands shake” type. Rereading that sentence exhaust me. I no longer find it brave to be both hyperbolic and true. Do you?
I am not a good writer. I want to be a better writer. So I am going to try writing. I want to understand why I went to a rock Mass three weeks ago, the last Mass of the day, with the most annoying priest in the world presiding, and wept at the words, “Oh wonderer come home, you’re not that far.”
Why does this feel like a deconstruction email? There’s way more construction that deconstruction in my life at the moment. I promise.
Your friend,
Luke
TL;DR Luke has good intentions to write about his favorite things.
About damn time! I’m looking forward to this foray! If you ever get “the block” I’d love to have a beer with you! I’ve been writing a while and don’t live that far away. Love when Mrs. Ruvi is on!
You're a good writer.