Today marks 50 years since the death of Dorothy Parker:
American poet, short story writer, critic, and satirist, best known for her wit, wisecracks and eye for 20th-century urban foibles
… and that’s rather an appropriate anniversary, given that this post nearly didn’t get written, simply because – as can happen to any writey person from time to time – I simply couldn’t think of anything to write.
It happens to the best of us. It infamously once happened to Dorothy too, as she described in a telegram to her editor:
Yep. That’s the puppy.
And I’m in no way comparing myself to Ms Parker, except maybe to say that if she hadn’t suffered with Writer’s Block back in June 1945, then you might not be reading anything here today…