I have this gigantic and very regimental schedule I try to keep, that usually gets distracted easily and generally perturbed by random incidents, but the first thing to go when my schedule becomes busy is the internet. No time. Check the email. That's it. But I've a little time tonight so I thought I'd post an update on my well being.
Strange that I have one.
Painter's little baby body is no more. He becomes more towering and huge each week. His appetite is on par with this rate, and he has grown adept at opening doors, throwing things for the sound of it, and basically fouling up anything electronic in the house (including this laptop I'm currently typing on). He still hasn't found an interest in much speech yet, but does say a few things.
Marriage is good. Summer is good. Publishing career is a dead horse I can't stop kicking. I've had a strong bout of 'We have ceased publication' responses, all year long. I used the Dustbooks directory for a good portion of the magazines in my last campaign and got screwed. I like the Dustbooks directory, but how often do they check their sources? I've recieved submission response letters all year explaining that the magazine I sent to has been out of publication for 3+ years, or that the editor has been dead for quite awhile. These responses make me feel like a heel. Thanks, Directory of Poetry Publishers. The sad thing is that there are quite a few editors and/or magazines that die out without updating their website or removing their ads from circulation. Obviously, no one gets much of a chance to tidy up their magazine if they suddenly die, but the major poetry market books should check their sources more often, to uncover these magazines that, considering they've closed up shop, probably don't need masses of poets sending work their way.
Eh, two cents.
Just over halfway through my new book, Malus Conditus. It's difficult to write, as it is an intensely negative and cruel book. I've wanted to write a sort of cruel poetry for some time, and now I'm in the waistwater of it. It can be a little draining, however, and after a short time, these newer poems actually start to make my stomach hurt. I only hope prospective readers don't misjudge it as juvenile or amateurish (because really, who typically writes the angry, mean poems? Yep, teenagers). I'll be thirty in three days. The 14th. Bastille day, in France. I've been wanting to go to France on my birthday for some time. It's also their independence day. Imagine waking up on your birthday, looking out into the street, and seeing half the town running around cheering and having parades and drinking booze, lighting shit on fire... What a birthday that could be.
And, on the subject of independence days, some recent images from our 4th of July vacation up into Washington.
