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The most important word in the phrase “Happy New Year” isn’t “year.” Some might argue for “happy,” but you can’t control “happy,” a real worm of a word, scriggling away with every headache or disappointing microwave lunch. But “new,” there’s a word I can work with.As my most steadfast readers know, every Dec. 31, I write myself a letter, detailing rather generously my plans for the next year: massive totals of short stories I will write and fuet turns I will majestically spin on the tiny satin tip of my pointe shoe. I will complete a series of sestinas! I will do a middle split!I should start with almost reasonable goals, like cleaning out my truck or finishing that loaf of sourdough farm bread in the refrigerator.But anyhow, as 2007 burbled into the cold dirt, I wrote my overblown letter, and even this wildly far into the new year, I still remember the gist of what I wrote.I would like, as Ezra Pound said in the beginning of the imagism craze – “craze” being a somewhat strong word since it mainly infected him, an absent-minded doctor-friend of his, T.S.
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