(Oh, but the day is young!)
God I hope I would have the guts to do what Wm. C. Wm. did after his strokes. I hope I would flail bravely, angrily, tearfully away at my typewriter regardless of what got scrambled between my brain and my fingertips, and then just send the letter anyway, relying on the people I loved to understand what I meant. Especially if I were a writer.
And thinking of WCW reminds me of Dr. Stitt. Peter Stitt. Ah, me, back in that strange time of limbo at the University of Houston. I wonder if it was some form of purgatory for him, as it was for me?