I bought green tea from the ghetto grocery store and it’s not super strong but I keep drinking it anyway, hoping it will live up to its written promise
Last week I had three readings (with many, many people), gave one cocktail party for Kevin Sampsell and Justin Taylor, and went to one funeral (for Rosie’s husband, Frank) which was very, very sad.
I’m super exhausted. I can’t catch up. Actually I think I can catch up later on this week, but then I hit the road. I’m starting a tour in a less-than-ideal state, which is sort of frustrating, but I know I’m going to be pretty sober on the road, which will help me power through some long-ass days of driving.
I have almost finished a new short story called “The Walker” which I am sending off to an anthology. I guess it will be published…some time this year? I think it’s sort of an independent kind of thing, so they might not have to abide by the traditional publishing rule of Everything Takes Forever and a Day. Anyway, I quite like how it has turned out and it has been a pleasure to work on it even if I had to write it faster than I would have liked because of scheduling conflicts, namely me being on the road.
It was really nice to write something besides an email interview or a blog post and finish it. It’s not that I’ve been worried I have forgotten how to write, but I was feeling a little rusty. I am really looking forward to the spring, where it will be all writing all the time. It makes me feel so clear-headed and strong and in control of my destiny, not to mention the destiny of all of these fictional characters. It makes me sit up straight and pay attention to myself.
It is so easy to lose focus on who you are in the midst of talking about who you are every day. I know it makes no sense, but it’s true. But writing about fiction helps me to keep track of myself. I am most disciplined when I am writing. I am paying the most attention to my thoughts. I am reading, I am thinking, I am trying to make a point, I am trying to get to the other side.
I know you never get to the other side, but at least I am trying.
Here is the ending of the story:
Every morning, early, I walk through the fog. My limp is gone. I am guided only by the grubby, earthy scent of the water, the dreamy crash of the waves against the shore, the swift clip of my feet as I hurtle myself toward nothing in particular. But still, there it is, there I am. Walking. Joy.
Knowing me I’ll change it eight more times in the next two days, but this morning, at least, I liked it.
+++
Portsmouth and Boston, I’m coming for you this weekend!
February 26 – Portsmouth, NH
RiverRun Books, 7:00 PM
February 28 – Boston, MA
Newtonville Books, w/ Steve Almond (yay!), 2:00 PM
