Overhead, without any fuss, the stars were going out.

�� Arthur C. Clarke, "The Nine Billion Names of God" ��






My chapbook, The Language of Exile, is available from Main Street Rag. I like to trade chapbooks. I want yours. I want it now ....

ME ME ME
who the heck
write me now, ok

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2006-01-29, 11:51 a.m.:
Must resolve to begin using the word 'codswallop' more in ordinary conversation.

0 comments

2006-01-27, 3:23 p.m.:
And an almost belated Happy 250th Birthday to the Amadeus whom Att was named for.

2 comments

2006-01-27, 11:51 a.m.:
I am loving my little One Story's that appear in my box promptly each month. It's such a great idea, a series of little chapbooks, mini-chapbooks (chaplets?) of one short story at a time. I like to keep them in the car or my bag for reading emergencies: they are perfect for plane travel, waiting rooms, stuck-in-the-car-with-sleeping-babies moments (aka Home Depot runs). One would think they would be ideal for sneaking into church for dullish, meandering sermons.

Going to see/hear/experience the folks behind Hot Whiskey, the press and the blog, tonight, reading at Left Hand Books. If I can leave the tooth-cutter. Can I? Can't I? How do these things work?

3 comments

2006-01-26, 12:30 p.m.:
Yup, it's me, now available for preorder. Now I really start to sweat as I imagine my mother ordering and reading it (just how many times did I use the word fuck in the book? Reference sex or drugs? Get all highfalutin' on one's ass?).

I'm excited about the book but trying to keep it mostly out of my mind. The ticket seems to be just that - writing love-hate letters to California late at night in the garage between interruptions from toddler and teether. (I talk about the garage so much, it seems like it must be a metaphor or at least a euphemism. It's not. It's just a garage, with a lawn chair and a 'smoking console' (boxes with newspapers and books spread out on them) and a stinky cat box in the corner - a stroller and Amazon box graveyard.) They may be bad poems (but remember: "Fail. Fail again. Fail better"), but ... Let the old dead make room for the new dead.

(Yes, it's Jones not Jone.)

3 comments

2006-01-25, 10:52 p.m.:
Town Preacher Marquee Dept. (... all of January, so far):

Do you want to be the Grateful Dead? Or the Regretful Dead?

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2006-01-24, 9:46 a.m.:
My chap's cover goes to the printer today, the inside pages next week. At first when I saw the cover design (made according to my detailed though somewhat inept instructions), I was disappointed. I didn't like the blurred edges of the Rhine map image, the fade to black, the rounded corners; I didn't like the shadow font that looked like a cheesy '70s outline font, that made you think of a platform shoe or purple velvet bell-bottoms.

But then he changed the fade-out effect to a box in the same burgundy as the font shadow. You can just barely distinguish it from the black of the background. The map itself is the color of pale reeds in autumn on eggshell, or on off-white even. A very old map, maybe from the 1400's? And the platform-shoe font grew on me, has grown on me. Now I love the whole thing. It's weird to look at the cover, the cover of *my* book, even if just a lowly chapbook.

1 comments

2006-01-21, 1:44 p.m.:
Sometimes, if it's a bit too late and I'm up smoking in the garage, I will drink just a bit too much whiskey and a few days later find things I have forgotten writing on slips of scratch paper by the lawn chair. I just found one of these this morning and I typed it up, am calling it "Song for the Other Boys."

In other news, ten inches of snow, full-on sun, winds at night that die down, thankfully, finally.

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