Day 1

Subbed four stories this week, sold one so far. So now, everything ‘in progress’ is now outbound and I am in novel mode.
My brain can barely function. Those stories meant a lot to me, they took all I’ve got. I got nothing left. Maybe some yoga. Maybe run for a while. Something. Maybe a new pen.
And in the lull, I’ll get onto updating the site, and I’ve got some posts I’m mulling over… but now some air. The air outside this office. The dog gets it. He’s farting in agreement, yeah it stinks in here. Let’s hit the road.

very Stephen Elliott

I met Stephen Elliott at Tin House and bought his book. Happy Baby. which is searing. I get The Rumpus emails. This was in one from this week. Stephen is like some brilliant wounded muppet. Like a hungry raccoon with dreams of becoming a pole dancer. Or a cute hipster poet Atlantic City DJ. Ginsberg meets Bushnell.

‘I’m especially not going to indulge in nostalgia. I don’t have any patience for that. No wistfulness, no nostalgia, no pining for missed opportunities, no regrets, no entitlement, no entering contests, no take backs. Those are some rules I wrote once for myself in a small notebook I carried in my jacket pocket. There were a few more…Tell the story forward, lack perspective, avoid learning lessons, write magical, don’t make fun of other people’s fashion choices.