Scribe Summer Camp

I am so happy to have been accepted into Ron Carlson's workshop at this summer's Napa Valley Writers' Conference.

I'll Tell You a Story

A child's unflappable urge to tell you a personal story that relates (or doesn't) to the book you're reading to them will never become tiresome.

"At the Jim Bridger" by Ron Carlson

You should read the entirety of this book, front to back, "Towel Season" to "At the El Sol."

Truth Being Stranger Than Fiction

It seems to me that writers who don't like meeting new people, who are shy, and who when in public put their noses in a book (however good it may be), are missing out on a land parcel of stories the size of the great plains. Stories don't exist only on the page. (Moreover, these written stories often germinate in real-world events.) There are acres of stories that live in people who don't like to write, who've never thought of writing, but who have something about the human experience that they have to share.

At my polling place yesterday, us four workers bored out of our civic-minded minds, we started telling true stories. There were wonderful tales of a hotel room being trashed by Roseanne Barr and Tom Arnold; a sailer in protected Pt. Loma waters, who was notified of his location by a submarine, which rose ominously out of the water; being taken for $75 at the border, and being tickled about it; the lengths to bridge-lovers (card game) go to get their fix.

When not dishing with my fellow workers, this is what my writer's mind observed:
*high school students are fond of adorning their skin with stickers and pen doodles.
*if a dog isn't allowed entrance somewhere, and the person enforcing the rule loves dogs, the dog will be let in.
*some people are simply in a sour mood, and no amount of polite banter will make a difference.
*voters who are registered as nonpartisan don't in fact know what this means.
*overheard: "Ever since they drafted me, I vote every time."

Yo Vote'

If it isn't too much to ask, could you tell a joke (apolitical, of course) to your local poll workers? I think it's going to be a long, ennui-filled day of low voter turnout.

A Mid-west Visit

I met up with a friend from grad school, Dave Hancock, who's up in Carlsbad for the week on business. After Maryland I moved to a completely different part of the country, in more ways than one. It was wonderful to spend a few hours with a back-then friend, someone who was equally freaked out by the bombed Pentagon and the snipers and the anthrax and the US invasion of another country. So much has happened for both of us since we left Maryland. And yet when I picked him up at his hotel, he said I was exactly the same. Funny, because I was thinking the same thing of him.

Look out, literary journals. We're coming for you.

Rock n Roll Marathon

Congratulations to all the Marcfit and Tri Club members who ran the Rock n Roll Marathon. You battled heat, crowds, aid stations without Vaseline, and off-key cover bands. It was harrowing on Bryan's and my side of the race course, too: ornery cops, buggy sidelines, and not much of a breeze when you're standing still. Thanks for making our morning so much fun!

And for Marc: I gave you French fries, now I give you "The Pole Dancer":

I'll save you the breath right now and just say, No, my father wasn't a firefighter. And no, I didn't twirl the baton as a child. I don't have a particular penchant for yard work that involves rakes or shovels or any tool with a long, thin handle. (I don't have a penchant for any yard work, in fact.) No, I began pole-dancing because it was better than circulating through the crowd, giving lap dances. True, the tips are less. But I perform on my small platform well enough to make any difference in pay between me and Desiree, or me and Tanya, or me and Miranda, small potatoes.

I would like to think that I could support myself with smiles at strangers, cards to servicemen, animal shelter adoption, Goodwill donations, or loving one imperfect man well. But this isn't a culture where books are commerce, like spices in ancient Asia (I paid attention in high school). We citizens demand more of each other. Of me, you want my taxes paid in full, a pole dance, and a dependable punch line.