A review of my writing and plans for April. No kidding.
“Vogue Philippines released its April issue on Friday and its newest cover model is an 106-year-old indigenous Kalinga woman, Apo Whang-Od, also known as Maria Oggay.” It would have been more impressive (on the part of Vogue) if this had been the cover of the US edition.
Years ago, the Art teacher at the coastal high school where I was also a teacher for thirty years asked the Biology teacher to pick up a special-order book for her while she was shopping at Powell’s Book Store in Portland. (I was not that Art teacher—I taught Art in Washington State—this was Sandy, the reason I went on to teach English.) Diane drove 80 miles over the coast range to Powell’s and was horrified to discover that there was a nude on the cover of the book. Yes, a naked man! Michelangelo’s David. She was embarrassed to be seen with the book. No, I am not kidding.
Our granddaughter had her second heart surgery this morning. It went well. Minimally invasive and she may go home this afternoon. Incredible.
There’s more goodness…
Continue readingMy story was already live on Metaphorosis before 6am when I first checked just a moment ago—both the text and the podcast. ALL THE DAUGHTERS SING. [updated link to start of story… hopefully. A response on the Metaphorosis website or here is much appreciated. Bloggers may click “like” at the end of the story text. Anyone may add a comment.]
At least five years ago, I typed out the first draft of a story in which nearly all moveable life on earth had died. It was too long and when I tried to cut it back to below five thousand words… it got longer. Then it became a novella with over twenty thousand words. I managed to shave a couple of thousand words. The next draft, completed during National Novel Writing Month in November 2021 (whoops, during 2018!), was a full length novel. (NaNo requires 50k but I wrote over 75k.)
Terrible things are happening. I am not unaware, but today, only the wonderful-in-a-good-way news. I have reasons to feel amazed at my good fortune.
That critter was galloping along the shoreline when we spotted it from a distance. “What is that?” Gary said. And it was someone totally unexpected. “ASHES ASHES ON THE WATER, BURN THE HAIRY LITTLE OTTER. GEE IT LOOKS LIKE SO MUCH FUN, I CAN’T WAIT UNTIL HE’S DONE.” Don’t take this silliness too seriously—Gary and a University Book Store friend wrote it in about 1971. Gary and I both love otters. Can’t you see him?
We thought we might not get out on the beach this morning. The rocks were slippery with frost. Streams had iced over. Castaway jellyfish were frozen. And there was an otter running down the beach.
Continue readingSnow days, eagles, red snapper (warning: the fish is dead), and symptoms I am old in no particular order.
Sneaker waves, white male privilege, assumptions, earthquakes. [Mine as well.] The terrible ironies we live with every day.
SNEAKER WAVES. I was working in the Library, a Wednesday when I generally stayed late to provide access to students until the evening. However it was the last day of school, and students were furiously clearing out their lockers, signing yearbooks, and on their way to summer vacation. E stopped to say hey. He had just completed his Sophomore year, so I hadn’t had him in class yet. But we chatted, laughed, and both managed to be clear about looking forward to spending time together in the fall.
My friend was at the coast for a graduate residency. She expressed concern that students warned about sneaker waves seemed to think it was a joke.
