Don't despair, everyone's favorite blind banjoist is still living and breathing. Though, my chapbook loosely based on Doc Watson songs has been put to earth. It just wasn't working, though I got few poems out of it, the limitations were a bit overwhelming. It also didn't leave much room for creative exploration when I had an idea for a whole collection (albeit a mini-one) before the majority of the poems were composed. So I'm back to thesis-ing, and currently am wrestling with a sonnet that may or may not want to be a sonnet, entitled "The Heart, Like a Bocce Ball."
Dog update: We're hoping for a Sunday morning discharge. Apparently the other night he tore out a few of his staples, and is now wearing a cone around his head. The good news is the tumor on his neck was benign, the bad news is the tumor on his abdomen was not. So we're sort of waiting to see what happens next. Regardless, I'm thrilled to be getting my dog back.
In reading news, I've been plowing through the Scribner's fiction book, and loving a great many of the stories I find. "The Caretaker" by Anthony Doerr is incredible, as is "The Ceiling" by Kevin Brockmeier. And here I was worried about teaching the fiction portion of my class in the fall, but now am having a much easier go through the stories than I am through the poems. Though, I must admit, reading most of the poetry in the vintage book is simply rehashing the canonical American poets. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but the fiction book just feels infinitely fresher.
It's hot as hell outside. With half-marathon training in full swing and a seven mile run slated for tomorrow morning, I'm ready to head north.