Hard times

That's all I'll say, except to note that my literary friends will probably think "Dickens" and my more bohemian friends will think of the first syllable only. It's neither. That's all I'll say.

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I've spent the better part of the day reading fiction for West Branch: I wish Chris Torockio would send another story. I wish he'd just sent "Conservation." I wish we'd taken it when he did. I hope it landed someplace nice.

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Going tonight to a reading by Kwame Dawes, and I'm embarrassed to admit that I know absolutely nothing of his poetry. Looking forward to being surprised.

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It's funny how reading unengaging manuscripts (I'm not trying to be mean, and I'm certainly not naming names) can launch me back into my own work with renewed energy. . . I have a whole series of VD poems, mostly unpublished, that I keep thinking I'll finish into some kind of project. I'd set a 3:30 deadline today to stop reading mss. for a while, and along about 3:05 I started thinking about one particular poem, "Skin," and how it fails: voice too scattered, for one thing. So I got to tinkering. I'm not through tinkering, but I think it's going to be a sonnet. I'm totally excited about this.

Sonnets are like double-fudge brownies: before I'm through with one, I'm already thinking about the next one. I'm thinking, I could do a whole pan of these.

And yeah, the wave of nausea hits around number three.

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I was offered a course for fall '06: the foundation seminar I've taught twice before. It's never the same course exactly. Already thinking about how to make improvements.

Talking to the (English) department chair tomorrow about more possible courses. Wish me luck, y'all.

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Thanks to friends--

--D, for giving me a job when I really needed one.

--K, for surprising me with a delightful phone call the other day.

--S, for prodding me about getting a website together. And for offering to help. And for doing that thing you did late late in the night last Tuesday.