Saturation point...

Broke out the long-sleeved tee today, and happy I did. More cool, rainy weather.

The foothills are lush, and the great smooth scar north of the Garden of the Gods is as green as a billiard table.

Got revisions in play on three different stories this morning, and a chance to dig into a new story by Gina Frangello, former editor of Other Voices, in the current issue of Ploughshares.

Truck is in the shop, awaiting repairs. Fingers crossed the mechanic’s bill won’t be too bad. Fingers doubly crossed the undercarriage tire mount can be repaired before I leave for the wilds of Wyoming.

Scuttled--but...

Rainiest summer in a long time. Misting and spitting all day. A breeze came up during the night and blew the humidity away. The 50 degrees it left behind has the air feeling like fall, and making me wonder where I left my fleece.

Was packed up and ready to drive to Wyoming today, but the weather—among other small concerns—put a damper on the escape. Truck needs some looking after, including a repair to the undercarriage so the spare tire can start having a proper ride.

Trip to the Bighorns will have to wait until next week. But that’s okay. Anytime’s the right time. Meanwhile, got a nice letter from the editors at Leapfrog Press, inquiring after unpublished stories from The Outskirts of Nowhere for possible placement in their lit journal, Crossborders. Told them all were taken, save two, either of which I’d be delighted to see them put into print.

Sent along a third as well, “Give Me Your Tomorrows,” which is not part of the collection. GMYT has gotten some nice comments from editors, but the epistolary nature of the narration seems to bug people, so I guess we’ll see what happens. 

Not bad, for a Monday...

Slow day. Socked in, again. Rain, humidity, and a deep gray sky have settled over everything. The Front Range is white with clouds and mist, and the Peak has disappeared all together. It’s a good day for a book. Too warm for a fire.

Re-read Tobias Wolff’s “Desert Breakdown, 1968” this morning before leaving for work. The story about a young husband, home from Vietnam, wondering whether he should ditch his pregnant wife and son. Young writers talk about authenticity. Wolff’s voice is as authentic as it gets.

Old friends, bookends...

A terrific piece in the February 2014 New Yorker somehow escaped me. It was by Roger Angell, a writer I greatly admire. “This Old Man (Life in the nineties)” is the essay’s title. It’s an exploration of the glories and defeats of old age, but it’s also a textbook example of how to create a work that’s both “in the moment” yet clearly capable of a long, honorable shelf life.

On a not-so-dissimilar topic, had a long overdue conversation this evening with my soon-to-be eighty-eight-year-old father. His voice sounded good, strong and confident. The things we talked about were mundane—football, family, times we’ve spent together in the mountains—but I suspect they’ll stay with me for a long, long time. With luck, maybe forever.

 

Milestones...

Hard to believe it’s almost August. The kitchen job has knocked time all out of kilter, imposing itself on every other part of the summer’s comings and goings. But things are moving forward. Or so I’m told.

Close to finishing the working draft of my newest story, and excited about its prospects. It’s coming in just under 5,000 words, but feels like fewer. Hope that’s a good sign. Another couple of pages should see it to its proper end. Might reach that point tomorrow.

Turns out the Dalhousie Review’s acceptance of “Blues Legend,” marks the occasion of my 50th story finding its way into publication. Two of the pieces in this mix—“Photograph,” and “Riffs on My Dad”—were reprinted, so depending on how you look at it, the count could still rest at 48.

Either way, I’m good. Look for another celebration in the future.  

Rainy day, dream away...

Unofficial end to week 10 of the kitchen renovation. No workmen until late afternoon. Doing what? Who knows?

Productive morning. First writing, then painting. Took off late afternoon to get a haircut.

Another storm brewing. A quilt of dark heavy clouds threatening to cut loose. Hope they bring a good one. My freshly mowed lawn could use it.

Redemption...

Much painting of trim-work today. Little writing. Got in some early morning time at the keyboard, then headed to the garage looking for unopened cans of paint.

Cabinet install is supposed to be complete tomorrow. After that, who knows? I pray for electricity, but hey, I pray to win the lotto, too. Batting .000 on both counts.

Got an acceptance slip from the editors of the Dalhousie Review today for my short story “Blues Legend.” The DR was founded in 1921, and its past contributors include luminaries like Margaret Atwood and Nadine Gordimer.

Thrilled? July's beginning to look tolerable again.

 

There and back again...

Up early, off to breakfast. Denny’s! Back home to write for a while, then off to the garage to paint. Have begun to believe the renovation will never end. Granite countertops are allegedly being cut, and once finished, should allow the rest of the work to move forward. But who knows? Meanwhile, no electricity, wires dangling from sockets, and no plumbing in place. Clinging to the hope that, at some point, the workers will shift into high gear because they can’t stand the project any longer either.

Miraculously, the lawn isn’t dead. Big rains keep trailing in, and overcast skies have kept things cool. Bad haze the past two days, though, owing the terrible fires in the northwest.

A while back, in early June, the New Yorker ran a special section called “My Old Flame.” One of the pieces, “Good Legs” by Joshua Ferris, caught my attention. Re-read it today, and had to marvel again at its craftsmanship. It’s a short piece, as were the others, but quite muscular in its compactness. So much story in such a small space. 

Indigestible food for thought...

Heavy rains last night. Then again this afternoon. Good day for writing, though. A lot accomplished in a short time.

Did a little painting out in the garage, preparing for week (sigh) ten of the renovation. Had to stop when the deluge began.

Grocery shopping this evening. With no oven, no stove, and only a microwave to work with, the spectrum of edible food narrows considerably--each pre-packaged entrée taking on a shade so uniquely and horrifyingly its own, you find you find yourself explaining the reason for its purchase with the checkout clerk.

That said, Swanson’s pork and gravy for dinner!

 

Calling it a day...

Spent the early part of the morning in front of the keyboard. Later, checked on some minor progress in the kitchen (patching and mudding). Week nine of the renovation is creeping to a close with almost nothing new to see.

Wrote and posted a review on Amazon today for James Hanna’s The Siege. Told him to think fondly of me if his sales reach a million, and he wrote back promising me a role in the movie. What more could I ask for? He’s a good writer. Hope things go well for him.

The New Yorker arrived in the mail yesterday. Looking forward to reading it. I’m currently without a novel in hand, so will have to go on the hunt for something new. Part of me wants to pull an old classic off the shelf. Another part of me wants to re-read Don Delillo’s Underworld. Maybe I’ll do both.

Dinner and a movie...

Early evening. Just got back from dinner out. Mostaccioli at Luigi’s. Wine in the foreground, Sinatra in the background. Does it get better than that? I don’t think so.

Had a brief email exchange earlier today with Toby Smith, author of the Dempsey piece, Kid Blackie, I’ve been mentioning in my last few entries. Learned Rocky Mountain PBS is airing a special on Smith and his incredibly entertaining book in October. The 2nd, to be precise.

Kid Blackie has been in print close to 30 years, but I’m sure Mr. Smith would say the release of the documentary is impeccably timed. Finding an audience—no matter how long it takes—is always gratifying. Good luck to him, and congratulations on his hard work.

Works and days...

Week nine of the kitchen renovation, and no one showed up for work today. Drove into the office beneath overcast skies, and settled in to writing with a cup of tea and a peanut butter sandwich.

Had another good morning at the keyboard. How do you strike a balance between spontaneity and caution? One day the former works, the next day the latter. This is why we speak of revisions in the plural. You rarely accomplish things in the first pass.

Dempsey book is wonderful. Can’t read it without remembering road trips from the past. Next time I pass through Montrose, it will be a different town. Same with Telluride…Ouray…Creede…Steamboat Springs.

There goes the sun...

“Ere the thunder comes the rain.” Socrates’ line in Wife of Bath’s Tale, right? Xanthippe rails, and when the great man gives her the dust-off, she dumps a piss-pot on his head.

Anyway, it’s raining.

It’s raining and the workday is all but over, and tomorrow is officially mid-week.

More tweaking on the hunter story this morning. It’s slowly finding its mark. Also finished Jim Hanna’s debut novel, The Siege. Hanna is a pleasant man and a fine writer, and I wish him great success marketing the book.

Have a copy of the Kenyon Review on my nightstand, waiting to be read. But now, thanks to the rain, I’ve got Chaucer on the brain.

 

Time and time again...

6:21 pm. Same as yesterday’s entry. Suddenly I believe in the second gunman.

Didn’t sleep much last night, but felt rested just the same. Coffee pot was on the fritz. Looks like instant tomorrow.

Got some good work done on a story that seems to keep getting longer and longer. Hope deeper comes into play at some point, too. Enjoying the twists and turns, even though I know half of what I’m doing will end up in the trash. I love not knowing what’s coming down the pike. Around the next corner. I love hacking to bits what I liked the day before.

Spent some time with the electrician this morning. Week nine of the renovation is now in play. Still moving sockets around, trying to appease the Code Nazis.

Devoted the afternoon to commercial work. Articles for a local magazine. The change of pace was enjoyable, all things considered. Didn’t get out all day, but felt otherwise owing to the pieces I was working on.

Side note. Three types of clients you never want to work for if your livelihood runs to advertising: Doctors, lawyers, and engineers. If you’re in the business, this needs no explaining.

This, that, and the other...

6:21 pm. Kitties are wrestling on the floor. Hard to tell who’s winning. Beautiful summer morning interrupted by Eric the Reluctant, who dropped by to explain why he wouldn’t be working today. Waved him off and went back to writing. Made good headway on a draft, then cleaned up and left to see a movie. Back home now, enjoying a bloody, bloody Mary.

Got a good rain yesterday evening, which brought the lawn back from the brink of extinction. Still no electricity in the north part of the house, so by extension, no way to activate the sprinkler system making the downpour a welcome sight. Who knows, there may still be a way to salvage the grass that’s left. Or at least keep anymore from dying off before the fall replanting can take place.

Enjoying the Dempsey book a great deal. Need to finish The Siege, soon, so I can write my review. Meanwhile, more painting to attend to. Also, some new writing projects. The summer is slipping by faster than I imagined. Feel the passing of time more palpably than ever before. Lots to do! No time for looking back, no time for regrets.