month of atonement
He loves fish, and catches them himself. No effete flyfishing for this madman. He goes grenade fishing, pre-filleting his catch. There is strange film of Saddam, wearing a long coat and beret, lobbing a grenade, underhanded, into the water. Aides in scuba gear retrieve the catch.
Naxos is fifteen years old, and bless them; back in those impecunious high school years, they brought me Beethoven's Ninth, the string quartets of Dvorák, the Smetana quartet that I was listening to in my car on graduation night before three police cars showed up to harass me.
Better than Yaddo, it's therapy fellowships!
But for those tortured souls whose highest-priority creative opus is not so much their writing as themselves, the Lucy Daniels Foundation here has created a different kind of refuge. A handful of lucky or not-so-lucky local writers (depending on how you analyze it), who were deemed both professionally successful and neurotic but treatable, were chosen to participate in a program that provides subsidized psychoanalysis for an unlimited time. It is a sort of writers' colony for the mind.
[...]
Each patient was assigned to a therapist in the Raleigh-Durham area and has two or four sessions a week at $5 to $12.50 each. The foundation pays the rest. "I was a poor artist and therapy costs money, and it looked like an easy way to get what I needed," one said.
