Wednesday, January 18, 2017


…I’m writing this on a black night where the lake has morphed into its onyx surroundings and the only thing visible outside are random house lights and a V-shaped string of lights two doors over that my neighbor has strung up between some trees.  It reminds me of the scene in Big Fish when Edward encounters that strange town where people throw their shoes on the telephone line and go barefoot the rest of their lives.  It’s quite cool.  If I were a more techy person, I’d snap a photo and show you.

…So this new novel is tough sledding already.  I’m not sure it’s strong enough, even for a first draft, though I do like the first sentence: “The moment our new mother came through the door of our trailer home, Sis and I knew there would be a different kind of trouble.”
And I haven’t even got to any emotional scenes yet.  Yikes.

…I just heard Frank Sinatra singing “My Way”.  I’m weird, but I often find myself pondering movie scenes, lines from movies, or song lyrics.  “Regrets, I’ve had a few, but then again too few to mention.”  Really?  I have a shitload of regrets.  So I wonder who is more normal, Frank or me.  And then I extrapolate that and wonder, what is normal anyway?
Told you I am weird.

…In San Diego with one of my best friends last week we were at a bar and he said, “Tell me a secret.”  Other than, “We need to talk,” “Tell me a secret” is the most heart-stopping thing someone can say to you.  So I told him one, something lame, then he told me one, and then I told him a bigger one.  And though he doesn’t judge me, didn’t judge me at all, flying home I thought that sometimes it’s best that secrets stay secrets.

…I think it’s sad that most song writers and singers today—outside of the obvious big time ones like Beyonce, Taylor, etc.,--can’t make a living off of their art.  Kids don’t buy music.  Really, they steal it, because if you’re not paying for it, that’s called theft.  Writing is starting to get that way as well.  I’ve made close to $3,000 since I’ve been doing this full-time.  I’ve probably sent 3,000 times that trying to further myself in the craft.  It’s extremely rare to get paid for a story or poem and most times if you get one accepted in a journal you have to buy the journal to see your story, so in effect, you’re paying to get yourself published.  That seems more than a little twisted.  Places are starting to charge reading fees, so you might have to pay $25 just to have your story read and then it could very well get rejected.  Good lord.
I’m ranting/venting, sorry.
I’m also all over the place tonight and yet I’ve had a single Corona Light and I’m not the least bit drunk.

…I do think kids are the best thing in the world.  I wish I’d had more.  I like their sense of wonder.  After kids, I like puppies best.  Then giraffes, then deer.  Moles and geese are at the bottom of my list.

…”Round Here” from Counting Crows has been stuck in my head forever, especially this line which I think is so poetic: “In between the moon and you the angels get a better view of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.”  Seems so apt now, what with two days until the inauguration. 

…Okay, enough random train-of-thought babbling.  I’m going to try to write a poem since I’m feeling a little floaty, then back to the novel. 

…In the meantime, I had this story published the other day.  It’s a doozey, one of those emotional pieces I wrote in Taos last year:

And another from Taos at (b)oink Zine:

…And I did this interview/conversation thing I did with David Galef at ELECTRIC LITERATURE on The State of Flash Fiction, though why I’m supposed to be an expert I have no idea:

…Thanks for hanging in there with me.  You’re a good person.



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