I spent half an hour today cleaning the last of the poisons and explosives out of the woodshed where I write, in preparation for firing up the Ashley Automatic wood stove that is sure to be my best friend over the winter. The collection was impressive: gasoline, two-stroke oil, lighter fluid, lacquer thinner, Japan Drier, Naphtha VM&P, Naval Jelly… I spent the rest of the morning striking matches, drinking kerosene and sucking on a leadsicle…
I think Bradbury used to write in a wood shed. There must be something to it. Does it have to be an old one, or could one of the new Menard’s models have enough inspirational juice?
As long as it has box-elder bugs, you’re golden.
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