Next corner to turn

I've just hit a point in my rewrite where I could go in several different directions. Which begs the question: Which one?

I found out a week or so ago that I'm on the wait list for Yaddo. This is the season for hearing yes and no, and sometimes maybe. I'm waiting for a little bit more of yes. I'm waiting to be presented with the decisions I'll need to make. I'm ready for that corner, that new patch of ground to stalk. Ready, I tell you. Ready.

The inebriated post

Adam: "When was the last time you had to leave your car somewhere?"

I don't know. But it feels damn good. It feels like freedom.

Loss

A friend of mine has been nursing his dog through her old age and now the end seems to be nearing. My heart breaks for him. We all experience loss at some point and it is such a universal. And really, all we have are our relationships. That's really the only thing that matters to me -- the creatures I love, both two- and four-footed.

I am still in mourning for Oliver. I am just going through the process and seeing where it takes me. There's absolutely no point in fighting it; the loss is almost as strong as he was. But not quite. I want to remember him with smiles, not tears, but right now it's a mixed bag.

Dogs are the best creatures on Earth

Watch this video of one dog protecting another in the wake of the Japan tsunami and tell me differently. And please consider donating to the people and animals suffering after this terrible tragedy.

Old angst tastes like dog food

What do you do when you've processed something to bits, but still you have to include it in your work? Just typing it makes me want to hurl. Not because it upset me; quite the opposite. I am over it. I am so over it. I am over writing about it. I wish I didn't have to include it. But I do.

Happiness

From The Project

Where to wear one’s flaws? On your face, where they can never be concealed? Or inside a mirrored bathroom cabinet, where they grow more shameful with each hidden moment? Where to handle those flaws – in the light of day or in the gauzy dimness of a feminine bathroom? What to do with the burden of being human?

Gary Shteyngart, "Absurdistan"

I floated above the city, glancing generously in each direction. The careless hooks and crags of Queens and Brooklyn, slivers of industry, quadrangles of brown-bricked terraced flats; the fanatic middle-class hopes of already half-darkened New Jersey tendering their resignation for the night; the carpeted grid of Manhattan sinking into the horizon, the garlands of yellow light -- sharp, overreaching -- that form the facades of skyscrapers, the garlands of yellow light -- diffuse, flickering -- that form the sprawl of tenements, the garlands of yellow light -- swerving, opportunistic -- that form the headlights of taxi caravans; the garlands of yellow light, aye, in their horizontal and vertical arrangements that form a final resting place for the collected hopes of our civilization.

35 pounds down

Raring to Go

I'm not a morning person. Not at all. But this morning I'm up and I'm ready for something to happen. I'm not sure why I think I'm going to get good news today. But I'm ready for it to come.

Singing TV theme songs at Adam's birthday gathering

Today

I was talking to Oliver's ashes. I do that. He's a good listener. I looked down and there was Maizie, just looking at me with this concentration that I can't believe came from a seven-month-old puppy. Her eyes said she knew. She understood. "You know I miss him," I told her. She did.

Dogs have such souls. This is not a new observation, nor is it intended to be. It simply is.