Mother and Father are sleeping. It is late. Slowly, the house shrinks into itself, pulling me into its tightness. Morocco has been on my mind lately. When I sit here thinking clearly about everything, I have the feeling I could make it to Morocco. Maybe it is time for me to go.
Anne Fox, who, with the decades, has stretched the concept of middle age to its limits, spends most of her time copy editing the work of others—novelists, essayists, short-story writers, practitioners of fiction and nonfiction in both a small newspaper and a literary newsletter. (The MacArthur Metro in Oakland and Write Angles, California Writers Club, Berkeley Branch). As a kibitzing editor, she applies “the stick of compassion” to hollow-eyed writers, cajoling them to finish that manuscript, write that query letter, create that book proposal.