Inarticulate

With regards to process (or method or less charitably gimmick) keeping mum may not be such a bad idea. Once it's out there, it's very easy to criticize, without referring whatsoever to the work it governs or engendered. Some people just can't seem to help themselves.

But (sometimes) that's like criticizing a garden hose. Oh my god, it's too green. It's too rubbery. It's coils stupidly against the side of the house.

OK, yeah. But look at the garden.

Even if the garden sucks, that's the place for the study to be focused.

I have to tell someone

It is finished. I have sent it to the editor/reader people (whom I adore).

OK. Whew. I have a month for further tinkering but am going to try to resist till they've had a turn with it.

We interrupt this lull . . .

...just to note that Elizabeth Zechel has a paintings blog!

I type all day, most days

Thanks to my long career as a copywriter I type most of the day, most days. (Whether it's actually "writing" is another matter, but.) As a result I type *very* fast. My fingers often get away from me and attempt to type things I don't intend. It's a kind of physical memory that seems unconnected to my mind. For instance, whenever I begin typing "power" or "polish" or "pom-pom" or even "pewter" it often comes out "poetry" and I have to use the backspace key to correct. I do it so often, now the backspace key-strokes are part of the game.

This is why I revise on a manual typewriter. (Lots less spring, much slower pace, way more deliberate. Mind has to slow to match fingers, rather than both racing ahead.)

I'm too busy with offline things to really engage with the blog lately. One thing after another has prevented me, so far, from getting my Dusie chapbook finally printed, and getting the finalized MS of my book (For Girls (& others)) to my (bless them) reader/editors. Which is just rude. But there's no point in handing it over till I've made up my mind about most of it. The book's all there--has been there, done, complete--but because it's less a miscellany than Down Spooky there are additional considerations. (Um, plus this time, there's no one to decree but me, or enforce deadlines either.) I've changed the order several times and waffled between two sections or three. I think yesterday I nailed the first section, and decided on three sections total. This is all impossible to do on the computer. It requires me shuffling on the train, ripping spreads in half, spreading them allover the coffee table and/or living room and/or office floor, shooing the cat, picking them up, shuffling, repeat. Then there are the line breaks--working mostly a very short line in these poems and some of the enjambments are literally waking me up at night (!). I've got one cover sketch done, but want to try a few more ideas and then show them around for opinions, but I've still got time on the cover. Thank god I don't need to ask for blurbs. (Is there any process more excruciating, y'all?) By the end of this weekend I *must* have it done.

Except my damn Studio monitor needs the backlight converter replaced & the part hasn't arrived yet. My screen's so dim I may as well be a mole. If it goes out completely before I can switch it out, boy, am I screwed.

Which is (all) to say, I wish that kind of physical automoton memory could pick up the slack on a few of my other tasks.

Link

I love mail

Here's what I just got, lucky lucky me:



Here's a poem from it:

POETIC JUSTICE

Of course the big thing these days is invisibility implants. Invisibility is a misnomer though. They don't actually make you invisible. Sort of a blur. Well, not a blur. Not like Robin Williams in the movie. Not out of focus. Your outline is still there, available for pleasantries, and you take up the same space etc as before. It's just that there's no depth to you. People can't tangle with you & you can't tangle with them. It's a security thing. Genius. Much better than house arrest or those ankle bracelets or that gadget beside the phone. The implant lets you go about your business, take care of yourself, etc. It's just that you can't mix or mingle. Nobody notices you. I've had it done. The weird thing is I can't remember why. These days if you get the implant you get an erase chip too. The memory's gone. But I must have done something. You don't just get sentenced to implants & chips for nothing. It's kinda lonely, I grant you that. But who am I to complain. I mean I could be behind bars, right. Plenty of people are. At least I can go out & about even if I can't exactly make contact.

You can get a copy for yourself or an invisible loved one here.

I also got this:



And I will be reading that soon, because it looks very interesting too. (I can't resist writers' biographies.)