This ship of state — this self-obsessed, rusting hulk of retired newspaperman — steadied the moment I felt the stillness of the coming autumn air. No pain this morning, only a sense of the gentle season ahead. I put out fresh water for scrub jays, finches, titmouses and Texas antelope squirrels, grateful that the rattlesnakes …

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This really is about me and not my 19-month-old dog, but sometimes I think my self-knowledge might not be much deeper than his. I have been struggling lately with too much news and a lost appetite for fiction.   You see, I grew up thinking I would be a fiction writer. But my newspaperman instincts …

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