Serendipity, etc.

I am having one of those weeks where I feel like I am going to explode. Since I came back from Bread Loaf, it has been incredible at the hospital. I run around like a chicken with my head chopped off. The staff know I am overwhelmed because I have been mega-quiet. I am getting everything done, but I feel exhausted. And I have one of my students' packets to read and critique before the weekend ends. It is weeks like this that make me wish I could say "No" more often.

That said, today marks a very important transition for me. I became a partner in my practice in July but tomorrow marks the day I become a full corporate partner. As of tomorrow, I own 1/3rd of the practice I am in. I cannot believe it has been 40 months since I joined this group. It feels like yesterday that I left UCSF and my dreams of being an Academic Physician. But it all ended up fine. I ended up where I was supposed to be.

I am, and always will be, a great believer in serendipity and destiny. I seem to end up where I am supposed to be, even when at times I am utterly convinced this isn't true. If anyone had told me in 1989 that I would be a physician, I would have laughed my head off. If anyone had said I would be a poet, I would have cackled and fallen over in hysterics. I never imagined the life I have, not even for a minute. In fact, there is nothing in my life today I could have imagined then. For God's sake I thought I would be getting married and having a family then. Ah, the power of denial.

Anyhoo, time to go meet Jacob and get some Thai food. I am exhausted, but inside I am a happy man. If only the World weren't such a fucked up place right now. If only...

I Rock

Ran across Redwood City a little while ago to go to the Kaiser Tumor Conference. When I got back, I parked next to a car that had the following plate: CDYROCKS. I am not kidding you. That was what the plate had on the car! No, I am not imagining this. Jeez.

Tip

If you are thinking about going to AWP in Austin, you might want to call the Hilton Downtown Austin ASAP. That is the conference hotel and it is sold out except for some rooms in the conference block. So, unless you are going for AWP, there are no more rooms left there. My tip: make the reservation and cancel it later if you decide not to go or you decide to stay elsewhere. I just booked a room there and was told there aren't many rooms left.

I have decided to become a novelist.

By Instinct

I am so definitely back in my usual world now. Running around today like a chicken with my head chopped off. 31 patients to see over the course of the day. I found this beautiful post regarding Bread Loaf and writing in general that I thought I would share with you all. Just gorgeous.

I am apparently to be on a panel at AWP in Austin about Poetry and Medicine. Our own Peter Pereira from the blogosphere will also be on the panel. It should be interesting. I am dying to hear what the other panelists have to say about the two and how they intersect. I still haven't figured out exactly how they intersect for me. But I know they must somehow. I know that instinctively.

Jacob and I watched the first two episodes of Six Feet Under Season 4 last night. It is now out on DVD. Maybe by the time we finish it HBO will put season 5 on demand so we can see it. Otherwise, we will be stuck waiting to see it on DVD. I love that show. I wish it didn't have to die.

Changes

Well, things just keep changing over at The Paris Review. Not only did they change their Editor recently, but they are about to unveil their new design: a slimmer, taller PR. And, now that it is official, I can write here that they also have new poetry editors. Yes, the poetry at PR is now edited by Charles Simic and Meghan O'Rourke. I am curious to see how the new Paris Review will stack up against the previous one.

Pole Dancing in Vermont

I was just reminded that this year's final dance at Bread Loaf was different than the other final dances there I have been to because this time there were two--yes, two!--people doing pole dances! Yup, this year Ali and Justin had a "pole off." It was shocking to see them go at it. Little did many realize pole-dancing is a recognized sport. And these two were medalists. I cannot tell you which one won.

Back from the Mountain

I got back to SF last night, just in time to watch the new HBO series, ROME. Not sure what I think about ROME yet. We'll see.

I had a great time visiting Bread Loaf. I got a chance to see old friends and met a lot of new people as well. And the readings I got to hear were good. But I was glad to fly home last night. And I am glad to be drinking great coffee right now.

Time to head off to the hospital. Something tells me my schedule today is full.

Message from the Mountain

So the redeye from SF to Newark wasn't too bad, even though I never really sleep on redeye flights. Got to Bread Loaf around 11:00AM on Wednesday. The weather when I got here was wretched: drizzly, cold, unlike any other time I have been here! I was privileged to hear, that night, Brigit Pegeen Kelly read. As in Napa, it was amazing. Here, she read more of her work, so it was a real treat. She even read some new poems, dark and powerful, and brilliant. She just takes my breath away at times with her poems. She read her longish poem, "The Orchard," which I published in NER years ago. It mesmerized the entire room. People were stunned into utter stillness. When she finished reading, rows of people just sat there for a while. It was as if we had been paralyzed by her words.

Today I am giving a craft class on (yes, what a surprise) the elegy. This will not be a formal lecture, so I am hopeful it will be a great discussion and examination of four poems. I am excited to hear what others will say about the poems and the connections I can help to facilitate in discussing them.

The new poem I drafted recently is haunting me here. I have already begun to not just tinker but to extract and replace and shift things. It is a terrific feeling to be stuck inside the machinery of a poem. I just love being subjugated to a poem like this.

I miss Jacob, of course. I'll be happy to fly home on Sunday. We have a new series to start: HBO's "ROME."

Blatant

We updated the website at NER. You can check out what is in the new issue. You can also read poems by Frederico Garcia Lorca and G.C. Waldrep. You can also find a rather interesting essay on academic honesty by AJ Sherman at the site. And of course, if you want to subscribe to NER or just buy the current issue, you can do so there as well. Sorry, I have to be a good editor and push the magazine. Okay, I am done whoring NER for now.

The Wicked

I cannot believe it is already August 23rd. Anyway, after work today, I will run home, pack, and head to the airport for the redeye to New York. Tomorrow morning, I will connect to a flight to Burlington VT. Yup, it is time to head to Bread Loaf. I will be there for the last four days as a Visiting Editor. Oh don't worry. I won't be just relaxing. Besides the work I have to do while I am there, I am taking along the October schedule template for my practice and a stack of poems, annotations, and critical examinations of texts from one of my students. So, no rest for the wicked. But that is okay. I like my life the way it is. Yes, I know that came out kind of Stuart Smalley-esque, but it is true.

I was thinking recently of what my life was like 5 years ago, 10 years, 15, etc. It struck me that I am the happiest I have ever been. No, I am not running around being Susie Sunshine. But I feel strangely settled into my life. I don't feel odd in my skin the way I used to feel. And I can see that in my poems, too. I think my recent work actually sounds more like me than like the love child of Amy Clampitt and Derek Walcott raised by James Merrill. Of course, I know we never see our own work the way others do, so I am not sure what my point is.

Okay, time to get to the hospital. Summer is almost over.

RIP Six Feet Under

Well, I had originally said I wouldn't watch any of Six Feet Under this season because I am still behind one season. Jacob and I have seen all of seasons 1 through 3. Thanks to HBO refusing to bring out the 4th season in a timely fashion, and thanks to missing season 4 "on demand", we couldn't start season 5, the current one. That said, despite some serious holes in the story line due to lack of seeing an entire two seasons, I had to see the final show last night. It was a weird but fitting end to the Fishers. I will miss 6FU. It was the first television show I saw that made each and every episode as if it were a short film, a weird, complicated, quirky short film. It saddens me a little to know it only lived five seasons and is now done. Well, RIP Six Feet Under.

All Mothers Are Not the Same

but they all have that same special quality of motherness that both endears them to you and bothers the fuck out of you! Don't believe me, check this out.

Have already tinkered with the new poem twice already. Can't help it.

Basking in the Glow

I knew it was coming. I knew it. Woke up this morning and could see the five or six lines I had in my head coming together, could see the orange grove and twelve types of rot. I could hear the sound of water dripping on glass used to divine the future. And the water was salty like tears. And the large canvas with three doctors on it, the red suture closing one's ears, another's eyes and the other left unfinished. There was the word "scrying" and the word "smoke." It began to come together quickly. As I dropped Jacob off at the lab, I started reciting the ending lines of the poem in my head. I came home and started drafting. I knew the placement of the various things; I could see them. The real surprise is the odd and disturbing rhetoric that threaded them together. Let us just say a rant I made on this blog back in January became the rhetorical thread. And now, I am basking in that odd glow one has after drafting a poem. I know there is tinkering to do. I know the real work of the poem begins now. But there is something on paper now. There is this poem that I can now see and play with. I have already begun to study its machinery, its guts. I am completely obsessed with it!

Gilgamesh Revisited

Last night, Jacob and I watched a movie (Chinese with subtitles) titled "Lan Yu." Premise: Established and wealthy businessman meets young architecture student. He has sex with him and likes him but wants to keep it quiet and short term. As the movie progresses, they split up twice, the second time because the businessman meets and falls for a brainy and beautiful woman who works as an interpreter. As the movie progresses, it becomes apparent that the businessman has not always been above board with the Chinese government, and the businessman is eventually arrested. The company's assets are frozen. The businessman could be tried for treason and given the death penalty. Lan Yu comes to the rescue because he has saved every dollar he ever got from the businessman. Lan Yu sells his house. The businessman is freed and moves into Lan Yu's small apartment. They admit their love for one another. The movie seems a beautiful thing at this point but then... the businessman gets his company back and on his first day a man arrives and asks him to come identify someone. Yes, he goes to the morgue and finds Lan Yu dead. The businessman collapses, so great is his grief. He falls to the floor and sobs, inconsolable. So great is his loss. So great the grief he cannot even speak. Lan Yu had apparently been in an accident at a construction site. The movie ends.

It is then Jacob loses it. Once again, the moral here is if you are gay you will always be unhappy. You die, your loved one dies, or you live in pain and suffering. Jacob was ranting and raving, and even though I have talked about this here before, it really struck me that what he was saying was true. In the world of cinema, gay men cannot ever seem to have a good ending. Someone always dies, is killed, is sick, etc. It depressed the hell out of me. And it made me mad to see Jacob so upset at the movie's end.

I am sure it seems frivolous to talk about this considering all the wretched things happening in this world. I am sure it seems small minded and weak. But I love this man, and what upsets him upsets me. To all the filmmakers out there trying to include the lives of gay men, just stop it. Until you can see that our lives aren't much different than your hetero characters, just stop. You only reinforce the fact that gay equals bad, that gay equals a life of unhappiness. And it is sick to think how many young gays and lesbians will watch movies like this and have their subconscious minds tainted by it. We have existed for centuries, millennia. Our love can be trite, just like hetero love, and it can be great. It can change the world at times. One of the greatest love stories of all time is about a man and his beloved. Though now that I think about it, it ended badly for them, too. Gilgamesh grieved for Enkidou, his grief so great the world felt its dark tremors move through it. I now have worked myself into a state and need to stop. Love is love, people. Love is not a gift to be held by a few, it belongs to everyone, whether you like it or not. No one will ever be able to convince me my love is bad, is wrong. No one.

More good news

A lot of good news floating around the blogosphere lately. Stop by and congratulate Anne on her acceptance.

Yes, I know I am beginning to sound like the Town Crier, but good news is good news and there is so little good news in the world right now.

And when is Deb Ager going to deliver?!

If you want

to blog, then blog. If you don't want to blog, then don't. If you like reading blogs, read them. If you don't like reading them, then don't. This is as much for me as for anyone else. Blogging doesn't need justification. No one need justify their lives. We live. End of story.

Brewing

It is weird, but I can tell school is starting up again. All the ads on the radio for back to school sales certainly help to remind. But I can also sense a kind of calm creeping through the blogosphere as many return to school after a summer off. You can just kind of feel it.

I have a poem brewing. I can tell. I keep listening to a certain song over and over. And I have 4 lines already milling about in my head. And I keep seeing disparate things in relation to one another. The poem is coming. I can smell it the way one smells a storm approaching. I pray to God I don't get in its way! I am amazed at how differently poets draft poems. Do most of you know a poem is coming? Or do you just sit down and write?

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Also, swing by and congratulate Jeannine on getting her book accepted!

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Oh, and swing by and congratulate Stuart. He is a father again!

Yes!

It is on days like this I love being a doctor...


Oh and Tony Robinson is sad because he hasn't had many hits today, so stop by and visit him.

Twilight Zone continues

I got the strangest acceptance of a poem ever today. I got the acceptance before I sent the poem. Proofs are arriving in a few days. How weird is that?

Back

Well, we did, in fact, make it back to SF yesterday. The flight yesterday was delayed, but thankfully they stayed at the gate and didn't shut the door until they were quite sure we were leaving. It was exhausting. I really don't like flying anymore. I wish teleportation was an option.

Like Peter, I am on-call this week. That said, I am sure our calls are different from one another. For one, I never deliver babies.

Anyway, I need to get going. I didn't sleep well last night and know it is going to take me a little longer to get things done today.

Stuck in the Twilight Zone

So, those of you who read this blog regularly know that I have terrible flying karma. Well, last evening, Jacob and I went to fly back to SF. We boarded the plane and got stuck on the runway for over two hours in a lightning storm. Yes, a lightning storm in Vegas! After two plus hours, with 20 planes on the runway waiting to take off, we started running out of fuel. We had to go back to the gate. Of course, because of the lightning, they couldn't re-fuel. And then they cancelled the flight because they shut down the airport!!!!! On top of that, we spent the two hours on the plane freaking out because the flight attendants discovered two carry on bags aboard that did NOT belong to any passenger on the plane. And in one bag was a bible and another religious book. We completely freaked out because we thought this kind of odd. Anyway, we went back to our hotel and our Host gave us a room. The weird thing is it was the same room we checked out of earlier that day! And the room was 2332. A room with a repeating number. I swear to God, we feel like we are in the Twilight Zone.

Thank God I remembered reading an article in Conde Nast a while back about what to do if your flight is cancelled. I called the 1-800 reservation number from my cell while sitting on the plane at the gate. We got the last 2 seats on the noon flight today. When we finally deplaned, there were close to a hundred people standing at the help desk.

So, we are praying we can get home today.

Afternoon Roundup, etc.

The Summer issue of NER is out! Yay!!! We have poems in this issue from:

Charles Cros, 3 poems translated by John Kinsella
G. C. Waldrep
Nicholas Samaras
Cecily Parks
Karin Gottshall
David Yezzi
Lucia Perillo
Federico Garcia Lorca, 7 poems translated by Ralph Angel
Michalle Gould
Richard Kenney
Corey Marks
Diane Kirsten Martin
Rick Barot

The web site will be updated soon.

And time for a quick Friday afternoon roundup. Here are some posts I particularly enjoyed this week:

1. ADT is brilliant. But we already knew that.

2. Rebecca Loudon loves W (and I don't mean the President). For God's sake, people, I have standards.

3. Well, we all knew this was secretly true. Yup, Charles has been photographed naked. I swear to God, people. I don't make this stuff up. Now THIS is the New Sincerity.

4. Eduardo is trying to decide whether or not to go work for the CIA. Again, read it for yourself. I just report the facts.

5. Ginger ponders the mail subs vs. email subs thang.

6. Gina eats bad poets for breakfast. Well, okay, I might be a little out of control there. But it is on her blog!

Okay folks, I am off to Sin City!!

Mad About You

To those who emailed their concerns: No, I am not planning on leaving my post as Poetry Editor of NER. If my blog post gave you that impression, I am sorry. I was just musing, as I am apt to do here.

Driving to work this morning, my hair suddenly was long again, my scrubs turned into jeans with tears and worn areas (ahem) in them, and I was suddenly 158 lbs! Yes, I heard "Mad About You" by Belinda Carlisle on the radio and was instantly transformed to a previous self. Why my previous self had no shirt on is beyond me. But that song put me in just the best mood. Okay, maybe the fact I am flying off to Vegas with Jacob this evening also put me in a good mood.

Yes, gambling, drinking, and sin are on the horizon. I can't wait. Once again, Jacob and I will be on the lookout for ADT's brother at the LV airport. Not that we would know what to do or say if we actually saw him. I guess it is kind of like "Where's Waldo?" We just look with no intention of doing anything should we spot him.

I got the sweetest card from a patient of mine. I treated his son for lymphoma and he wrote to tell me that when they have family dinners and say their prayers they have added me to the list of people they pray for. Well, I am glad. I need all the prayers I can get to save me and my soul!! Yeah, I'm mad about you, mad about love, etc. I am going to have this song in my head all damned day long.

Making the Decision

Well, it seems as if it has been a very long time since the launch of Little Emerson. And still, we have not had a single poem published there. Yes, I know many of you have already calculated the chance of being published at Little Emerson is something like 1 in 1 billion, but I keep checking there. To be honest, it struck me the other day that I am not sure I would even like the poem that could make it into Little Emerson. My experience is that the more editors there are making the decision, the less interesting the poems they select. That said, Little Emerson is unique in that the editors don't communicate with each other, so there can be no bargaining. No least offensive poem sliding under the radar. So, I am back to where I started. I am just not sure what the point of Little Emerson is (no offense to Alberto).

When I started out as a poetry editor, I distinctly remember asking a more senior poet, who was also an editor, for advice. He told me to select poems I could stand behind, that I could stand up for, that if I did that, it would all work out for the better. He was right, I think. I know some think NER is too conservative, too much of the same, too much (fill-in the blank), but I do feel as if I can stand behind what I have published. I publish the poems I believe in. And I also make an effort not to publish ten poems in a row about churches, or rivers, or whatever else seems to be pervasive in the collective unconscious at the moment. That is the best I can do.

Yes, NER is not FENCE. Why we are always placed in opposition to FENCE is beyond me. There are actually quite a number of poets who have appeared in both fairly often. NER is NER. It changes and it stays the same. It has a life beyond me or any of the other editors. This can be seen if you go back and look through the entire magazine's 25+ year history. Editors come and go, but the magazine seems to have a life of its own. Editors slant things here and there (I don't think the poems I select are exactly the same as what Sidney Lea selected), but it is spooky how much of the magazine seems unified despite the changes in editors over the years.

Why am I talking about this? Not sure. I have been thinking a lot lately about editing and the joy and terror involved in the job. The joy is finding all those new voices and watching them become more and more important voices over time. The terror remains all the bile you open yourself up to by being an editor. I have been with NER for ten years. I sometimes think I may have already overstayed my welcome there.

Dreams of Bamboo and IKEA

I am a little worn out today. Was off from the hospital, but used the entire day to do teaching-related stuff. So, I need a good dinner now and a good drink. I am not sure how so many poets teach full-time. I take my hat off to you folks.

Dreamt last night about plants. No doubt because of the recent discussion of bamboo and IKEA. In the dream I was running up and down the aisle of a warehouse yelling the names of plants. I don't remember seeing a single soul in this warehouse in my dream. Odd. I think I ate too many tortilla chips last night before the enchiladas en mole. And maybe the rum drinks didn't help either. The warehouse was so quiet.

Obsession

Can I just remind everyone that L'Occitane bath products are to die for! The Foaming Milk Bath gel alone is like freakin' heaven. And don't get me started about the Lemon Verbena Bath Gel. Yup, I am totally obsessed with bath products. And any day now I am going to try out the fabulous hand-crafted soaps a certain Aimee gave me at AWP. I have resisted for far too long. Life is too short to hold specialty soaps in reserve!

Death Always Wins

A patient of mine I helped cure of lung cancer died in a car accident last night. He was the only patient of mine I had helped to cure of lung cancer. Most lung cancer patients I see are so advanced they aren't curable. Here was the one time I thought we had beat the disease. But Death always wins. That is the only certain thing in life. Death always wins.

Typical

My bamboo plants in my office in Redwood City are growing out of control. The staff here think I am feeding them some special plant food, but all I do is water them and talk to them. Me talking to my bamboo plants. A sight to be seen. I am reminded of my friend Kevin who always says: "Bamboo plants? That's typical gay."

Tempest

I thank God, the stars, the heavens, the earth, the trees, whatever I have to thank, for the fact Gustav Mahler lived and wrote music. Driving home from Reno today with Jacob, he popped in a CD of Mahler's Fifth, Claudio Abbado conducting the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, released by DG. I swear to you all, if there was one person from the past I could be, it would have to be Mahler. Has anyone done for the symphonic form what Mahler did since he died?

With the swerving road winding its way through the Sierras, the Mahler a tempest of its own, I was downright thankful to be alive, thankful to student tickets at the Boston Symphony Orchestra. See, I had heard some classical music as a child, but the first real performance I heard as an adult was during college. I cannot say why, but I went to Symphony Hall and bought student rush tickets. I remember being surprised that my cheapo ticket got me a seat in the orchestra section. And the music performed that afternoon was Mahler's Fifth. And the man conducting was the then famous (but not as famous as he is today) Michael Tilson Thomas. Yes, the first symphony I heard performed live was Mahler's Fifth.

I sat there riveted. I had never heard anything so beautiful and menacing at the same time as the opening of that symphony. I have loved Mahler ever since. And the Fifth remains my favorite symphony of his. After that concert, I went many more times and discovered more and more composers. I started buying other pieces by the composers I heard performed. I am no classical music aficionado, but I love a lot of it. I love Jazz. I love the blues and old rockabilly. Anyway, I am losing focus here.

I know many people think classical music and think "boredom." But I tell you, there are pieces out there to make you swoon, to make you feel joyful, to make you cry. In many ways, music is the supreme art. And this coming from a man whose original training was in Painting. So, if any of you live near a Symphony or Orchestra that sells rush tickets and you need to fill some time on a weekend afternoon or evening, go check out what is playing. Serendipity is a funny thing. Something you hear might forever change your life. A matinee performance I never planned on attending completely changed mine.

Reno Action!

The drive over to reno yesterday afternoon was hellacious! It took us 5 and 1/2 hours. And when Jacob went to pick up the rental car, they were out of regular cars and gave him a Dodge Dakota four door cab TRUCK! The two of us in this big ass truck must have been a sight to be seen.

Alas, the only baccarat I found was at El Dorado, and the tables were full. I did find a bizarre slot machine called, of all things, "Fairy Magic." Of course I had to play it. It made no sense to me at all, this game, but I kept winning. And then, today, an old black woman saw me wondering around:

Woman: "Honey, you look lost."
Me: "Well, I don't know any of these slot machines. And I just lose when I play anyway."
Woman: "You think I just sit and lose money? Heeeeeall no. There is a science to this, sugar."
Me: "Really?"
Woman: "You bet your sweet face. You just find a dollar slot with max payout being 1600 or less, and I bet it puts some money in your wallet."
Me: "I don't know about that."
Woman: "See that double diamond slot machine over there? It has your name all over it."

So, I sheepishly walk over and put twenty dollars in. First pull, nothing. Second pull, $10. Third pull, $300 freakin' dollars!!!! I actually screamed like a big girl.

Woman: Shiiiiiiit. See. I bet this is the last time you don't pay attention to an old woman. I put my daughter through school with these machines."

Needless to say, I took the money and ran. I wasn't about to tempt fate. I have never won that much on a slot machine ever. So, the lesson here is that crazy old women in casinos should not be ignored!

C is for Commanding

If you haven't yet read Richard Siken's Crush and Geri Doran's Resin, add them to your late summer reading list now. What are you waiting for? Just do it! Get those books! Read them! Love them! Why is it I feel like saying "Get in there!" ?

Okay, maybe I am being just a little bossy. And I definitely don't want to be like my Urology Chief Resident. But these are two fine collections of poetry. You won't regret getting them and reading them.

Well, I am not going to Vegas this weekend, but I am driving to Reno/Tahoe with Jacob, who is heading up there for a big family party thing. As you can imagine, it is always nerve-wracking to meet other members of the extended family. I am a shy guy, you know. ;) Maybe I can meet some of them at Baccarat table? Just kidding.

C is for Cookie

That's Good Enough for Me! Well, apparently not. Here are some of the names various people have used for my C.

Caligula (courtesy of Mark Bibbins)
Cruella (also from Bibbins)
Cocktail
Charming
Cunning
Criminal
Culture-vulture
Captain
Caspar
Cosmo
Chlamydia (also courtesy of Bibbins. What a bitch!)
Castor
Concubinious
Cheesy

And the list goes on. My favorite is still "Cookie"!

In the Waiting Room

Overheard this morning in the waiting room:

Patient 1: "They just don't make hospital gowns the way they used to..."

Patient 2: "Maybe they just don't make us the way they used to..."



In San Mateo today covering. The drive down this morning through the fog was among the scarier drives I have taken. Usually it isn't too foggy down on the Peninsula, but today there is for everywhere. No wonder the word fog shows up over and over in poems I have written since moving here!

No Day Off for You

Off today from the Hospital, but busier than ever. No rest for the wicked! I wish we were going to Vegas this weekend. I still have another week to wait! I am so needing some baccarat.

Spent some time very early this morning re-reading The Triumph of Achilles. What a great book that is! I think it is still my favorite of Louise Gluck's books.

What are many of you reading right now?

Thank You

I cannot say thank you enough to you all. More importantly, I want to thank many of you for the support and encouragement when the whole publication deal fell through earlier in the year. I cannot explain how depressed and disappointed I was when I realized, in February, that the book wouldn't come out in April. And I cannot explain how much it baffled me to try and try to communicate with that Press only to have silence. Far too much silence that had already been happening but became more apparent as time went on. 9+ months of silences between October 2004 and May 2005 when I finally had the contract officially terminated. Even when various publishers asked to take a look, I couldn't even become hopeful. I just felt, deep inside, that the book had died. And so, when last Friday morning arrived, and I discovered the book was to have a life, I just couldn't believe it. It took a few days to sink in. And so, I am really happy for my little second book. I feel incredibly lucky. And maybe my Mom was right (she usually is); maybe the book just wasn't meant to happen this year or with that Press. In the end, I think the book ended up where it was supposed to end up. I know Four Way will do a great job. I have faith in them in a way that is hard to explain. Maybe it was the excitement in Martha Rhodes' voice, the care she took in writing the offer, the fact her authors love Four Way and speak of it the way people used to speak of their publishers many years ago. Maybe it is the personal touch they have. In all, I not only feel lucky, I feel downright flattered, honored even.

I am just happy as a clam right now. And maybe I should go buy a lottery ticket. I have had three dreams about winning the lottery in the last month. And I didn't buy a damned ticket!

The Return of the Artichoke Heart

Hey everyone, Lee Ann Roripaugh is back in the blogosphere! Her new blog is titled Octopus' Garden. Check it out. For many of you, it will be like old times.

Giddy

So, last Friday morning, I woke up at around 6:30AM but refused to get out of bed. I forced myself to sleep later. In the hazy world of being asleep and being awake, I dreamt a bell boy knocked on my door and told me I needed to clear my mailbox. In the dream, I told him I cleared it last night. Anyway, in the dream, I walked to the lobby in my pajamas and cleared the mailbox, which was filled with junk mail and a large, flat purple envelope. The funny thing is the hotel in the dream was not the place I was staying in Napa. Anyway, I opened the purple letter and inside was a letter that only said, "Sorry for the delay, but we have scheduled your book."

When I woke up, I started laughing to myself because it was funny to dream my book was scheduled since it had no publisher. I joked with myself that maybe I should check my email, but then laughed it off. At breakfast that morning, I got bored waiting on my friend, Claire. I went ahead and checked my email to waste time and, yes, there in my inbox was an offer from Martha Rhodes at Four Way Books. I officially accepted the offer this morning.

I feel so flattered, honored, and excited to be going with Four Way. I really feel it is the right place for me. The book will most likely be scheduled for Spring 2007! So, I am joining my friend, Pimone Triplett, as well as Tina Chang, Jason Schneiderman, Sarah Manguso, Forrest Hamer, and many others at Four Way Books. The Second Person will actually have a life after all. And I feel downright giddy to have Martha Rhodes as my Editor.