writer
Early morning meeting at the Broadmoor. Oh, to be rich. Or maybe not, now that I think about it. Still, it's hard to imagine heaven being any prettier.
Wasted day for the most part. Couldn't seem to get started. At least the skies have cleared a little and the temps have dropped a few degrees.
Gotta start thinking seriously about Wyoming.
Would have killed to spend the day in bed. But it wasn't in the cards. (Sigh.)
New fires busting out all over the state. Only one I can't feel bad about is the Beaver Creek burn up at the Colorado/Wyoming border. Routt National Forest was savaged by bark beetles years ago, and was always a sad drive. Made me heartbroken every time I passed through.
Skies are brown orange again, the way the were the summer of the Waldo Canyon. I hate giving up a single day of my life, but I'm waiting for fall now. Pressing my hands together, hoping we don't lose anymore than we have.
Feel like I'm coming down with a bad case of the blues. One that's gonna stick around for a while.
Read Denis Johnson's "Largess of the Sea Maiden" today. Wow. Got to me in a huge way. Just kept building and building. You don't have to be an old man to appreciate it, but if you are, it doesn't hurt. It's like meeting up with a kindred spirit who says, it's all right, brother. It's all right. Go easy.
Up early. Getting to be a habit. Put in time at the gym, made a few story revisions, then went to the bookstore. Picked up DeLillo's newest, Zero K, Anthony Doerr's All the Light We Cannot See, and Best American Short Stories 2015. A nice haul. Now all I need is a few extra hours in the day to read them.
Hot. Hot all week, according to the weather people.
Got a late start this morning. Slept in. Still grappling with the structure of "Old Salt," but think I made some decent headway. Scrounged around for a copy of B.A.S.S. 2015, and realized the reason I couldn't find it is that I haven't bought it yet. Jesus. Another senior moment. Need to remedy the situation tomorrow. Stock up on some new reading material.
Went to see a movie this afternoon, trying to get out of the heat. Did some grocery shopping afterward, then came home and cut the lawn. Mower settings are as high as they'll go. Maybe it'll make a difference, I don't know. Planted six new euonymus along the east wall. We'll see what happens. As always, fingers crossed.
Jesus, God, where did the week go?
Need to sort it all out.
Up early. Gym, home. Some good work on the heavy bag, and good set of edits on "Salty Dog." All before nine. Little things on my mind today. Thought by this stage of my life I'd have everything figured out. Figured wrong.
Made it to the office a little after one, and tried to shrug off the heat melt but only with marginal success. Got some housekeeping out of the way, revised some earlier work, scheduled meetings with two new clients, then packed up and took it all home.
Got an email from an old SF chum late in the day regarding a Denis Johnson story that appeared in B.A.S.S. 2015. Hadn't read the piece, but my buddy put the hook in me. He was wondering after the story's structure, which I assume was elliptical, and somewhat difficult to follow. Told him, Johnson's a poet. His deal's language. Follow the lyricism, and try to find themes. Imagine the words layered instead of end to end.
Overnight guest tonight. That doesn't happen often. Hope to have a pleasant visit.
Woke up to a cool morning, clear blue skies. No smoke from distant fires, no haze. Could use a few more days like this, though I expect we're a long way from cool weather. Neighborhood was quiet when I went off to the gym. Didn't get much of a workout once there, but had a fine time chasing back and forth from home to Safeway searching for my lost wallet. Thought I'd dropped it on the way out of the store last night. After much grief and gnashing of teeth though, I discovered, no, I'd kicked it under the bed while undressing the night before. Duh.
Into the office early for a teleconference, then home again to work. Walked in on the kitties during one of their needy times, and was forced onto the front porch, laptop in hand. Turned out to be a good thing. A perfect day for working outdoors. Typing outdoors, anyway.
Funny. Was starting to go buggy over all the manuscripts I've got in the mail, and all the nothing I've been getting in return. Then, just when I'd written off hearing from anyone until fall, a little angel came along with a great big acceptance in hand. Wraparound South asked for the rights to "Shark Week" for their Summer issue. Closed the deal late this afternoon after writing a brief question/answer piece for their "Backporch" section.
Three new projects on the burner, so Wyoming is now a dream for late July. Particularly if the N stuff starts rolling in. Gonna have my hands full when that dam breaks. Need to think about hitting the office early--really early--to capitalize on writing time. Can't think worth a damn when it gets too hot, and good breaks at the keyboard are going to come at a premium.
Mr. Patrick coming up tomorrow from Albuquerque for an overnight. Should make for an interesting evening. Hard to believe it's already Wednesday. Even harder to believe it's already July.
Witnessed a small slice of Americana this morning. A neighborhood Fourth of July parade. Little kids on bikes decorated with streamers. Other little kids in wagons, or pushing scooters. Red, white, and blue everywhere. Folks came out and sat curbside in lawn chairs to wave and cheer them on. Was quite the spectacle.
Spent the afternoon splitting my time reading manuscripts and grieving over the poor, burned up lawn. The late afternoon buying shrubs to replace the burned out hostas on the side yard. (Sigh.) Back to back weeks of hot weather. Just couldn't keep up with it.
Tuesday, tomorrow. Fingers crossed it doesn't go down the tubes. Short weeks always prove longer than regular weeks, so I'm not counting on it. But here's hoping. Would like to get back at work on one of my own stories.
Sent proof of "Desperado" back to the American Fiction eds this morning. Look forward to seeing it in print.
Worked all morning. Felt good, though couldn't get over this strange longing that haunted me all through the day. Got a decent draft of "Old Salt" in place. Hope to have a reader draft together before long.
Ribs and beer for dinner. Good company. Didn't talk about it, but the passing of Elie Wiesel turned another page for me this year. One whose mark won't be forgotten. Read Garrison Keilor held forth with the last Prairie Home Companion, too. Milestones.
Need to keep pushing forward. Let go of the setbacks and focus on the future.
Good day all around. Fog burned off, got a little work done outside, and killed it at the keyboard. Finished reading and taking notes on two new stories for N. Good pieces, both. One struck a particularly nice profile. Looking forward to kicking it upstairs and seeing what a different editor thinks.
Worked till mid-afternoon, then went off to do a bit of shopping. Lanterns for the backyard. Beer and wine for tomorrow's guests. Hope the weather clears a little more. Don't mind the come and go of clouds, but the humidity isn't any fun. Would like to go fishing this weekend, but know it would be a mistake, given it's the Fourth. Later, I guess.
Missing folks greatly today. Not sure why. But want to keep focused on the good, the present. Still looking for that special cup of Starbucks. Nearly had it, but it slipped away at the last second.
Here's to Saturday night.
Long day under anesthesia. Long two days of prepping for the doc. But the day started out with a fine sight--a beautiful little bird wishing me good morning--and ended with a long, dreamy nap alongside the kitties.
Read a story by T.C. Boyle in the NYer after I woke up. Powerful piece about immigration; medicine as a tool of repression. Not much humor in this one, but a helluva lot of heart. Also came across an old excerpt from Underworld. Hilarious stuff about a family in the fifties. Gotta get over to the bookstore and pic up his (Delillo's) latest joint.
Gonna slide into the evening now. Rest up and see if I can't lose this strange fog that's rolled into my head. The doc said no alcohol, but screw it. It's Friday.
Got this strange craving for a taste of Starbucks. I mean, strange. Really strange.
Sunday evening. Another week come and gone. Finished my reader draft of "Love Triangle." Ready to move on to one of my other pieces. Gotta keep reminding myself not to think too hard, just keep writing and trust in my own voice. Done a lot of thinking since San Francisco, most of it good, and tried a lot of new things, though how much of those experiments I've kept on the page I can't say. All I know is, you've gotta keep believing each new story is going to be better than the last. You've gotta keep punching. You've gotta keep working and studying and finishing what you start. Most important, you've gotta keep sending stuff out.
There's thunder in the distance and the skies have gone gray. Hope we get some rain.
Warm again, all day. Heard there's a new fire--in southern California. Sky wasn't bad today, but if the wind shifts....
More good revisions on "Love Triangle." Very close to a reader's draft. Just need to get the last two hundred fifty words in better order. Maybe this weekend.
Helped out with some demo tonight. Truck filled with lumber. Some nice fir in there, but nowhere to store it. Wish someone would come along and make off with it tonight, otherwise it's a trip to the landfill.
Read Philip Roth's "The Conversion of the Jews" last night. First time. Man, oh man, can that guy write. Terrific story all the way around.
Home this morning, looking after small stuff. Office later. Good editing work on "Love Triangle." Think I may have a reader draft with a little more work. Researched Duotrope for submission markets, and sent off a couple of older manuscripts. Most of the hot markets won't be accepting work until September, but that's okay. I should have four or five new ones ready to go by then. Hit the gym before coming home. Looking forward to a good night's sleep.
Cooler today. Though, something seems dreadfully wrong when eighty-seven seems cool. Skies are still full of smoke, but I'm resigned to the fact that, for the rest of my natural life, that may be the case. Unless, of course, the entire west goes up in flames all at once.
Making good progress on "Love Triangle," though no progress seems swift enough when you're excited about a piece and can't quite seem to manage the last detail.
Another scorcher, sky smudged from the Dog Head fire. Late evening clouds have rolled in over the mountains. Hoping for rain. No hail, please. Temps figure to be in the mid to high nineties the rest of the week. Not sure when the next break is supposed to come. Maybe when the monsoons arrive.
Good day today. Missed an orthodontist appointment, but otherwise made the best of things. Got in some small but good revisions on two stories. Met with new clients later in the afternoon and picked up work writing a brochure. Website down the road. Feels good to mix things up.
Got a couple of Father's Day cards and a nice phone message from the kid. Nice to be thought of, remembered. Need to get started on my letter writing again. Behind, as usual.
Father's Day. No father anymore. Still can't make it all the way around that one.
Went up to Elevenmile yesterday and broke in the new equipment. The vest is as good as it gets. Same with the other gear. Took no getting used to at all. Water was lower than expected, but clear and cool. Caught and released three nice brown in all, and got in a hundred good casts. There was smoke in the air from the Dog Head fire down in the Manzanos, but nothing too distracting. Mostly, it was just a nice relaxing day on the water. Even the tubers coming downriver were well behaved.
Coffee out on the back patio this morning. Temps again well over ninety, and expected to remain that way for the rest of the week. Seems hotter this spring than last, but that's probably my imagination. Just happy we can fall back on AC now and then. Especially to cool the house at night before bed.
Put in some good work at the keyboard today. Finished a draft of a new story, and make progress editing two older pieces. Going through one of those odd times when it's difficult to know what's worth spending time on and what's better off being pushed out the door. Nice to have a serious block of time to go after a piece, though. The diction becomes more consistent, and the rhythms are easier to follow.
Guests coming for dinner. Brats on the grill. Gotta twelve pack on ice in the cooler out back, and a cold Heiney call my name.
Off line a few days owing to tech difficulties. Hate falling behind like that. Anyway, back up now, fingers crossed I won't have anymore problems for a while.
Hot the past couple of days. Wish I could say I was enjoying it, but that would be a big fat lie. Thank God for AC. Be different if I were up in the mountains, only I don't expect that to happen for a while. Not with all the new work trickling in, and a hatful of story critiques looming.
Finished the edits on "Riverbound" and shipped it off today to American Fiction 2016. Last day of the deadline. Word count came in somewhere around 9,300, and that puts it out of contention with at least 80 percent of the lit mags in the market. Ran into the length issue last year with "Desperado." But AF liked it and picked it up. Not sure how they feel about back-to-back submissions, but which ever way the chips fall, it was good to get another piece into circulation.
New fly vest came in. It's a beaut. Still miss the old one, but Orvis did a hell of a job loading me up with new gear. Can't wait to try it out. First trip to Wyoming looks to happen in early July, but need to break things in here at home before that.
Out walking this afternoon, and my iphone malfunctioned as it sometimes does, defaulting to a voice setting and activating Siri. Went to turn it off, only to discover she was reciting my dad's obituary. Don't know what to think about that one. Knowing how much the old guy loved his technology, I suspect he would have found it amusing.
Read a terrific story once in the Pushcart series, years back. "The Dead Boy at Your Window." The author was a fellow named Bruce Holland Rogers, and the piece was, as I recall, nominated by Joyce Carol Oates. It was a wonderful work. Just beautiful. The brief interlude with Siri stirred up memories of it.
Thunderstorms tonight. Rain's nice. Got a notice from Orvis my new fly vest shipped today. Should be here in seven days at the outside. Need to drop in Angler's Covey and restock my fly supply before it gets here. Lost everything when the old vest went missing including my favorite fly books and boxes. Some of the things will be easily replaced, others not. There were a handful of beautiful old streamers in one of my leather fly wallets, gifts from my aunt.
Good headway today on the new story. Dropped the title with the Dylan reference and went straight for throat. Calling it "Love Triangle" now. Hope to have a reader's draft in order before long. Going back to the coming of age story tomorrow. Then on to something new. Gotta start putting more pieces in the mail.
Muhammad Ali died yesterday. Lots of clippings from the paper. Lots of memories.
