Today is Boone's first birthday. Technically, it probably isn't (he was a shelter rescue so there's no way to be sure), but he was 6 weeks old when I got him and we're roughly six weeks before that date, thus: Happy Birthday Boone! He's been handling the adjustment from wide open Blue Ridge to basement studio amazingly well. He wins the dog park, every time. Good boy.
Long way from there to here. It's the same loveseat in both pictures, you know, for scale.
Read at the Hugo House open mic reading yesterday. Could hardly believe how many people were there (lots). It's within walking distance of my apartment. It's great to discover such an encouraging and necessary place so close to where I live. Score one for Seattle.
"He began to dream of snow: ice glazing a parking meter; slush in the treads of Sandy's boots. There was the feeling of turning up blinds and seeing the whiteness of everything--snow on fence posts, snow limning branches--a banquet of light. He thought of his mother, and the way the mountains looked from the rooftop of his childhood: shimmering, insubstantial as ghosts."
"To see again--to discern a tree or face or cloud with an acceptable level of clarity--was the smallest kind of revival, a tiny breakthrough, but enough to start happiness in his heart--the joy of recognizing things, an improvement in his relationship with the world."
Can't find my copy of The Shell Collector, his wonderful collection of stories, though I fear I've foisted it upon so many people that maybe I didn't get it back from a borrower...
This is sort of buried, but, a press has offered to publish my first book. I am floored and figuring things out. But, yeah, I felt I should say that as it's been a topic here for so long...details to come, but it's looking like After the Ark will likely be published in Spring/Summer of 2011.
Strangely (or perhaps, not so), I've got a new poem showing up on RATTLE today. Also has an audio of me reading the poem, which is, I think, eerie. Read and/or listen if you feel so compelled.
Here I am, Northwest, in my basement studio in the Capitol Hill neighborhood of Seattle. There's a nearly year-old Redbone Coonhound sleeping on the bed in his new city-dog harness. Lots of big life-and-career type things seem to be happening all at once (I want my MTV!). I'm not sure if I can even talk about it. I still don't have a job. I owe lots of people emails. I ate two Seattle dogs last night, which is a hot dog with onions and cream cheese on it. I talked with the street vendors for at least 10 minutes about regional hot dog differences. I think I really like it here.
Wanna read a brand new poem before it disappears? Sure ya do. To *plish* shortly...
*plish*
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I stole the title for this post from Cori Winrock. I made fun, then promptly, stole it. Read the poem at that link. It's good.
I think "To Kill a Mockingbird" might be the first book I ever loved. Strange to see negativity towards a book that, at least to me, is an iconic childhood novel, especially if you have a connection to the American South...
