The NaNoWriMo Starting Line

The excitement has been building steadily, especially this last week. Sure enough, on the eve of NaNoWriMo, I have to take my computer to the shop so massive amounts of viruses can be removed. And my calendar is littered with commitments, so I can’t become a true hermit. And of course, I don’t feel like I used my time wisely enough, like I didn’t truly prepare. I have three new projects in addition to the novel I’ve been working on for an age and I’ve finally settled on one for my NaNoWriMo novel. I’m calling it The Chaos Queen for the moment

But I read the first Pep Talk from Chris Baty and it fired me up to get going.

So I sat down, rolled up my sleeves and started this crazy marathon. I just finished today’s first writing session, which was mostly one scene. At first, it was torturous and painful. Contrived and self-conscious. Suddenly, it exploded and my two characters largely did everything I asked them to, but in their own very particular ways, in ways I never would’ve thought they’d do them. Suddenly, I had an entire backstory for one of my main characters, a pseudo-villain (who’s mostly well-meaning and misunderstood), who I love. I just let the characters have their say with each other and just when it felt like we’d gone too far, revealed too much too early, I realized I had a doozy of a conflict. I got excited. I knew why my almost-villain existed in the story, what he wanted and what he was trying to do to get it. All this in 6 pages and 1,756 words. So I’m off to a great start.

Never one to leave well enough alone, I’m going to sprint for the next check point, try to put some words in the bank for those lean days ahead that don’t go so well. Stay tuned – more later.

NaNoWriMo Saved My Life…

See Emilie guest blog about NaNoWriMo at Mike’s Writing Workshop and Newsletter. This guest post features my sister as A., the elder little girl in my tale. Check it out.

More here at home later. Stay tuned.

Hey Dancing Heart

The title of the post is the title of a personal ad I happened to see. I love it, so I’m kinda playing around with it to see what it fits. Because I just have to use it.

Life’s been kinda chaotic. My temp job came to an end and the very same day (after my going-away party, awwww), I drove up to Baton Rouge for the Louisiana Book Festival. Many of my friends were on panels and Jamey was kind enough to invite me to share her gorgeous hotel room. That first night, we were driven in style to the Author’s Party at the State Library – which was good, because I hadn’t packed for the cold and that’s a bit of a walk from the hotel! We met some really amazing people, caught up with old friends and ate wonderful food from Mansur’s in the stacks of the State Library. There is nothing like witnessing your friends being celebrated, so it was a good night. Jamey and Barb met up with the folks from the Oxford American who’ve published them this year, as well as other writers-including Alex Cook, who not only writes for Oxford American, but 225 Magazine and Country Roads as well. And it turns out we have a decade-past M’s Fine and Mellow Cafe connection, so that was cool. Louis and his wife Elly were there and I got to see my mentor David Madden as well. After we were put into the last cars back to the hotel, some of us decided to go out on the town a bit, though we had to be up early, and that was a blast as well.

The whole time we were at that end of downtown, near the LSU Museum of Art and the hotel, close to the river, I was having fits of nostalgia, some really powerful flashbacks. Nearly ten years ago, the hotel was a ruin and the museum wasn’t there. Downtown was a ghost town after 6 p.m. when all the government workers would flee the encroaching darkness. M’s Fine and Mellow and Tabby’s Blues Box were pretty much the only things open and the year that I became a regular at M’s (every Tuesday, open mic night) was a year of my personal blossoming. I met many of my friends then and there, I forced myself to come out of my shell more. And it really felt like the place was ours, empty and dangerous as it may have been. Now the mural that used to be on the side of M’s is gone, replaced by a painted sign for The Roux House, which occupies the same space. The parking lot I used to park in is the cradle of the gorgeous museum, whose rooftop offers a breathtaking view of the river. Tabby’s is gone and in its place, a club my friend Daniel Lee plays at sometimes, I think. I met Daniel that very first Tuesday I went to M’s, grabbed his hand as he passed by my table and told him how much I liked his music. He thanked me and sat down to talk. These days, downtown Baton Rouge is full of life and it’s great to see. It’s not the same, but it’s still a beautiful thing.

The day of the Book Festival was glorious and overwhelming. I don’t know what voodoo the organizers of the Book Festival do, but there always seems to be gorgeous weather for the festival. Sometimes it’s hot, but as far as I can remember, it’s always been clear. This year, it was chilly with such a crystalline blue sky, you felt like you were walking around in an advertisement.

I had to pop in and out of panels to see everybody, but I feel satisfied with my glimpses and experiences. Barb in the enormous Senate Chamber with Rick Bragg et al for just a few minutes. Then, Louie’s book reading where I ran into a friend who is coincidentally a fan of his and was gratified to hear another reader say, “I picked up your book because of the piece I read in 225…” Then, a thrilling ride in a golf cart with Elly and Louis to the signing tent – Elly and I crying, “Wheeeee!” and urging the driver to go faster on the sidewalks around the Capitol building and Louie trying to act like he didn’t know either of us.

After chatting with Louie and Elly for a few minutes, I wandered around some of the vendor tents, stopping to talk to the great folks who publish me occasionally at 225 Magazine. It was really nice to put a face to the e-mail conversations. I’ve known my editor, Jeff Roedel, since our days in the Cinema Club together at college, but I hadn’t met Tom Guarisco, 225’s editor, though we’d communicated. One of the downfalls of freelancing, though it’s so great when you get to have a face-to-face. I’d never spoken with Rachael Upton, the online news editor, but I was very pleased to meet with her there at the festival. She does really great work with the website and she just happens to be really nice.

And then it was back into the Capitol building for a whirlwind of panels. A few minutes in the “Humor in Welty” panel that some professors of mine from LSU were on, and then across the hall to Barb’s very intimate reading from her book, More of This World or Maybe Another. She read from the story “Killer Heart,” and there was this one particular line (won’t say which, not out of context) where I felt like she’d reached over and punched me in the stomach. I made an audible sound, a sort of agonized, “Oh,” and that’s probably one of the best compliments I can give a writer. Especially a short story writer because, as I confessed to Barb later that night, I struggle to read and write short stories. There’s something about them that is harder for me than novels. They’re very different beasts. More on Barb and her book in a few paragraphs.

I had to leave Barb’s panel to get to Jamey’s “Work-in-Progress” panel with our teacher Moira Crone and another writer named Maggie Collins. It was really great to hear Moira read her piece. Jamey’s was material I had heard about, but never read (or heard). She prefaced hers by saying that it truly was a work in progress as she’d been working on it that morning at breakfast. I can attest to the truth of that.

Again, I had to duck out early from the “Works-in-Progress” panel to get to Toni’s panel about the Bobbie Faye books. She was entertaining her crowd with behind the scenes stories about the repackaging of the series and they asked a lot of questions about whether there’d be a fourth Bobbie Faye book (yet to be determined), one reader even going so far as to passionately say, “I think you owe us that story.”

The rest of the day was conversations, drinks and then a long, wonderful dinner. And then a long, not-so-wonderful drive back to New Orleans, getting back late at night/early in the morning, whichever way you look at it. Sunday was a recovery and packing day, catching up two friends for lunch and dinner respectively, before driving to Georgia on Monday.

Tuesday, I attended a press session with some of the Top 10 dancers from Season 5 of So You Think You Can Dance. It’s interesting covering an event as press when you are also a fan of whatever you’re covering. It was hard to be cool and professional when talking to Evan, for instance.  At one point, he was playing lacrosse with one of the tour folks and the ball rolled up a hill to land at my feet. I got to toss it to him and I was giggling girlishly (in my head, oh, I hope it was just in my head) as I tossed it back to him. Hold onto that journalistic integrity with all your strength. You’ve got to, as there’s still something of a prejudice against bloggers (I was there representing Pure SYTYCD, not my personal blog). I think the dancers definitely appreciate the bloggers from the fan sites cause they know their names and stuff about the show – also, as “my boys” (Phillip, Jason and Evan) pointed out, one of the recent fan site bloggers knew a lot of stuff that was going on with the tour that only the dancers knew!

Also, an advantage of blogging? Immediacy. A disadvantage at times, maybe. But, that day, total advantage. I was able to go to a nearby Kroger with a Starbucks (and wifi) and upload the pictures I’d just taken for our readers. Check out the post I did that afternoon here. I’ve been struggling on a book for years that relatively few people have seen, so it’s nice to have something in my life that I can write and have thousands of people see immediately. It’s helpful to have some instant gratification in my life and career.

It was another long day as my mother met me at the Arena for the show that evening and the show itself was several (wonderful) hours. And then, being the total dorks and enormous fans that we are, we stayed afterwards (hours in the cold) for the meet and greet with the dancers. All of the dancers I’d met that afternoon remembered me when we met late that night. Unfortunately, most of my pictures didn’t turn out all that well, but I had some good conversations I will always remember and I did get a picture of Evan’s and my almost-matching wrist tattoos. It was both a freelance opportunity and a great bonding experience with Mamma Mia! Lyndsey Parker (Reality Rocks) set a great precedent when she took her mom to the American Idol finale. Take your mom to work, payback for all those “take your daughter to work” days growing up.

And then, of course, we got to watch the Top 20 announcement episode together the next night. Had dinner with high school friends and their daughter my last night in town and then rocketed back to New Orleans on Friday – especially for a book party for Barb.

Let me say one more time – it’s a wonderful thing to see your friends celebrated and no one deserves it more than Barb. Hosted at a gorgeous Midcity home right off the bayou, the event was simply breathtaking, what each and every one of us can aspire to one day. Reward for finishing and publishing our books. Earlier in the day, I’d been reading More of This World or Maybe Another at Cheers and Barb’s story “If the Holy Spirit Comes For You” made me cry in public. If you can make me laugh out loud on buses or cry in my local coffeeshop, you have completely moved me, sucked me into your world and, as I said earlier, that is the highest compliment I can pay a writer. I was so mad at the characters in that story and so mad at Barb for pulling all these emotions through my skin (painfully) and out of my body with her words. But apparently, it’s great advertisement for her brilliance because my neighbor S. saw how upset I was and when I told her why I’d been crying, she said, “I can’t wait to read that book!”

And that pretty much brings us up to date, to now. I’ve fallen out of the habit of being at Cheers everyday [:(] and today, just now, I noticed that they painted over the bathroom graffiti. It was really disorienting and kinda sad. But then, I just told myself – it’s a blank slate, a clean canvas. Like my book. What was there was great, but what will be there will be better. And I can’t wait to see what it will be.

Two people at the festival told me, “it’s your turn soon, to sit over there and sign books.” I have to take their faith in me and make it my own. And do the freaking work.

Guest blogger – Bobbie Faye Ate My Brain

My sister Aimee writes too and she’s a big reader. Recently, she read Toni’s Bobbie Faye books and loved them. So, when she sent me a message complaining about a household problem, I was astounded by how much her “voice” in the complaint sounded unlike her own and almost…kinda…like…Bobbie Faye. It was like my sister was possessed. Check it out:

Okay, no need to freak out. Completely. Really. It’s okay. Despite the huge hole in the back of the house. And the leaking roof. And the electric short in my son’s bedroom. And the rats. Did I just say rats? Um, yeah, I’ll be moving out now. Or calling the health department. Can you condemn my house for me? Or, I don’t know, Ratbusters? Home Makeover? Don’t know whether to vomit or cry or just run like hell. Okay I shouldn’t have said that, but nothing else seemed appropriate. Freakin’ hole, mold, dripping water, rats. Rats in my house! And I almost freakin’ got electrocuted turning on the light. And did I mention I’m now living with rats? My son is NOT going back in that house. At least not until it is efficiently bombed. And can I request an airplane to dump a load of 100% concentrated bleach over what’s left? A ton of it. Literally. Bank, you can have the house back. We don’t want it anymore. Overreacting? Me? Didn’t you hear? Okay, well, maybe a little.

So when I pointed out to her that she kinda sounded like Bobbie Faye, she extended the possession as a…what…experiment? Early NaNoWriMo writing exercise?

Hello, Home Depot. You said: More saving. More doing. Well, that’s why I’m here. I’m broke, or financially challenged if you prefer, but I still got some doing to do. Got to kill me some rats. Or trap them. Or trap them and kill them. I don’t really care as long as they exit my house. Heck, exit my entire property. Don’t want ‘em comin’ back. So Home Depot Man, what do you recommend? What’s worth me making a larger dent in my itty bitty bank account? Well, you have a little bit of everything, huh? No recommendations? Not very expert-y, are you Home Depot Man? Last time I let one of you orange dudes make me feel dumb for being a young(ish) female in a home improvement store.  Okay, I’ll take one of everything. Yep. You heard me. Don’t laugh. You don’t know which one I should use so I’m givin’ ‘em all a test drive. Load me up. Wooden snap trap? Yep. Click and set trap? Sure. No view No touch kill trap? Oh yeah. Glue traps? Add to cart. Large or small? Both. Electric whatever trap? They make those? Oh, do you sell rat bazookas? I could REALLY use one of those. Poison? Um, no. That would just be mean. Okay, no, not really. But I am not cleaning up that mess when I finally find the bodies. Thank you very much, Home Depot Man. You were no help at all. But I’m feelin’ pretty good right now.

 

I smile myself through the self checkout and even giggle a little as I load my arsenal in the back of my SUV. I’m feelin’ kinda redneckish. Okay, rats, I’m packin’ and comin’ for ya.

Hello, rats. Rambo’s home. Yeah, it’s just me, but I’m warning you now, I’m armed. You know, I can hear you scampering around in my kitchen cupboard. I am not amused. In fact, that knot in my stomach is back. But I’ve got a bagful of rat killers with your name on it. Haha. Literally. Unless your name is Bob. You know, I once had a rat named Bob. No, he wasn’t my pet. He was my biology assignment for a semester. I kept him swimming in formaldehyde for weeks. I skinned him, cut out all the fatty tissue, cut off his muscles, exposed all his bones, tore out his organs. Could be you. I’m just sayin’. We could talk this out. Make a deal. You can leave now. I won’t set any traps if you do. Cuz really, Mr. Rat, when I said anybody was welcome to come destry my house, it wasn’t really an invitation. Sorry for the confusion and all, but please GET OUT OF MY HOUSE. You are seriously freaking me out. Okay, I shouldn’t admit that. But I’m setting this trap now. Pull the label back. Check. Insert peanut butter. Wait a minute. Peanut butter? Really? Okay, if you say so Mr. D-Con. Turn trap clockwise until the red “set” light comes on. Check. Now place in high traffic area. Okay, Mr. Rat, I’m opening the cabinet door now. Last chance. Only don’t let me see you. Aahh! I don’t want to hear you either! Drop the trap! Drop the trap! Close the door! Phew! Did I just unset the trap setting it down too hard? Okay, throwing it in the cabinet. Mr. RAt meets Wussy Rambo. That’s okay, Mr. Rat, really. Cuz you know what? I may be the cowardly soldier here, but I also have a commanding officer (a.k.a. my darling husband). And when he gets home, you are toast, you hear me? But it would be really great if you could get yourself into that trap in the meantime so I can have bragging rights. Mr. Rat? Okay well, gotta get back to work. We’ll be back to check on you. Please be in the trap by then. Thank you very much.

Maybe she just had no choice. That’s my guess. Especially when she wrote back, “Oooh. Oooh. Can I call my book Bobbie Faye Ate My Brain?”

My favorite part of this story? Toni’s response when I emailed her all of this. “LOL! That really did sound like Bobbie Faye ate her brain!” Typical. Toni shows no remorse that her character is so virulent now after three books, not only is she possessing Toni, but also perfectly innocent people who just happen to read her books. Bystanders!

Just so you know, everything in this guest blog really did happen exactly as related here. Including Toni’s lack of remorse and Aimee’s purchase of every variety of rodent killer known to humankind. Honestly. This is just reportage, folks.

Bragging on Dave and Dare

My friend Dave worked on the film Dare (music supervisor) and he just sent me the trailer. Really does a good job of whetting your appetite for the movie. Check it out.

BIG time bragging on Jamey

I subscribe to the GalleyCat email newsletter and today (thank goodness she warned me first), Jamey Hatley was featured as a Writer to Watch. She’s been stirring up major buzz for a few years now, most recently because she had an extraordinary piece in the Oxford American which was accompanied by eerily appropriate and gorgeous images. You can see pictures of her signing the issue for me here. The exceptional Ms. Hatley is one of the biggest reasons my book has lived to see a second draft and is now proceeding to a kick-ass third draft. Not only is she a phenomenal writer, she’s a mentor, friend, co-worker and partner in crime beyond compare.

I’m sure Jamey’s gonna blush when she reads this and maybe all this seems like overkill – but if it does, you don’t know Jamey and you haven’t read her. I’ll never be able to say enough good things about her, let alone more than enough.

One of my favorite pictures of Jamey is on my phone, so I’ll have to get that and post it for y’all soon.

[10.21.09: Finally got that great pic of Jamey off my phone. Here it is.]

Street Art, Banksy and SLS St. Petersburg

Last night, one of my volleyball teammates, K., and I were discussing street artist Banksy’s visit to New Orleans, where he painted/stenciled art all over the city. If you click on the link above, the one with the “Gray Ghost” painting over the sunflower is kinda near my house, on Clio across the street from The Big Top.  I took a picture of M. (who was the first person to tell me about Banksy) in front of it. If I can get the image off my phone (and M. gives permission), I’ll post it here, alongside the regular image below. If it’s the same image (and I think it is, from the details at the bottom), then the sunflower’s been painted over since then and the image has been covered in plexiglass to protect it.

At least one business owner didn’t know what they had on their building and painted over their Banksy (apparently, in some places, a Banksy can improve your property value, which I dig). But like most street art, there is that element of the ephemeral, of catching it. And some places and people do what they can to embrace and protect street art, so that’s pretty amazing.

K. and I moved on from Banksy to discuss the street art I found while I was in St. Petersburg, Russia two years ago and later, images I found in New Orleans. It’s something of a hobby of mine to photograph whatever I see. Below, some Banksy images, street art from St. Petersburg, Baton Rouge and New Orleans.

K. has a tattoo of this Banksy image.

This is K.’s favorite Banksy.

My favorite Banksy.

Creating art about those who call it “vandalism” and destroy it.

One of my favorites from St. Petersburg.

In St. Petersburg.

In St. Petersburg.

In St. Petersburg.

In Baton Rouge, against an overpass by the lakes.

On the same overpass, to my knowledge.

This same image, from the overpass, was also in the workshop for an art class I took.

Under the overpass. The reflections in the water make this look like a gallery almost.

In New Orleans, near Dr. Bob’s workshop.

New Orleans.

One of my favorites from New Orleans. It’s been painted over for a while, but I caught it.

Recently, in New Orleans.

Talking about St. Petersburg made me miss it pretty violently. I have moments of that, where I’ll remember smells and tastes and sights from St. Petersburg in this visceral, compelling rush and for a moment, I can’t breathe for wanting to go back. I went as part of the Summer Literary Seminars in 2007, during the end of White Nights where there’s almost 24 hours of daylight. So I got hundreds of photographs and rarely had to worry about lighting – though consequently, any photo that required a flash came out strange or crappy. I saw so many parallels between St. Petersburg and New Orleans while I was there and so it’s strange to miss one city while I’m in the other. But of course, they are very different too. Though, my “local” grocery in St. Petersburg was called Dixie.

Then, less than 24 hours after talking to K. about Banksy, street art and St. Petersburg, I opened up an SLS email about the new literary contest. Something was missing. Russia wasn’t offered as one of the programs. So, I followed the link to find out why. I know it’s a difficult city to organize something like the summer seminars in, even in the best of times. The program is now on hiatus till 2011, unfortunately. SLS still has programs in Kenya, Lithuania and Montreal. But, judging by my (oh too short) experiences in St. Petersburg, Russia’s the best. Anyways, while on the Russia program page, I caught a link to 10-minute video about the 10 years of SLS in St. Pete. It’s a cool video and it gives you a pretty good idea of the experiences of the program. I saw some familiar faces and places and that made me…what? homesick? what’s the word for sick for a city that’s never been your home but completely transformed you? Just heartsick, I guess. I want to be in the position to go back to Russia in 2011, to spend more time and to see more, in addition to reacquanting myself with the old “neighborhood.”

I tried to tie it all together to see if there are any known Banksy pieces in Russia. Couldn’t find anything. But, I did find two Russian references to Banky’s Kissing Policeman. First, a photograph of two Russian Policemen kissing in a winter Siberian Forest. Second, what looks like a photograph of Russian officers (a male-female couple) kissing on a Russian sidewalk paired with Banky’s piece. May I be the first to suggest that Banksy take a visit to Russia? He can take the Trans-Siberian and really do it right.

Oh, here’s a video I just found of Banksy (?) in Palestine. Check it out. .

[10.21.09: Here's the picture of M. with the "Grey Ghost" Banksy I told y'all about. Enjoy.]

The guest blogger strikes again

There have been allegations that my guest blogger, Nick Fox, and I are one and the same person. I assure you that not only do we write very differently – we look very different as well. Especially when you consider he is a boy and I am a girl. Here is his most recent (low-tech email newsletter) update and following it is a picture of the two of us together, to put these allegations to rest once and for good.

Greetings from Florida. I feel that opening should have a postcard attached with palm trees and flamingoes and a couple frolicking in the surf. So just imagine that, if you would. Big pink and green letters saying, Wish You Were Here, and pelicans in the background.

The background as I type this is my grandparents’ new place . I’m looking out the window right now at Sarasota Bay, where a small speedboat appears to be towing a crane across the water. It’s the strangest damn sight. I’m going to go get a photo of it.

(moments later)

Got my photo. See attached. There’s your postcard. Have a look at the floating crane and just imagine the Tijuana Brass Band a little Bob Barker announcement that YOU have won a trip to FLORIDA!!!

Florida is a good place for weird, and growing up here has had an effect on me. Now, when I’m in New Orleans, I walk through the French Quarter and see two cowboys standing on a corner with miniature horses and shrug and go, “Eh. Whatever.”

But I digress. I have a story about digression…

ERNEST HEMINGWAY: Get to the point or I’ll punch you in the mouth.

I’m in the breakfast nook of my grandparents’ new place. They moved in less than forty-eight hours ago. This is supposed to be a retirement community, but if it is, I’d like to retire now.  The place is stunning. When my grandmother walked in two days ago, her first reaction was, “Oh my God! Oh my GOD!”

That was the dialogue for the next thirty minutes. My grandmother (Jabe) and my grandfather (Zaz), going back and forth like this:

JABE: OH MY GOD! I don’t BELIEVE this!

ZAZ: This is too good for us.

JABE: I don’t believe it! Oh my GOD! (pause) OH MY GOD!

ZAZ: This is for royalty, not for schleppers.

JABE: Oh my GOD!

So. Yeah. It’s a nice place. Which is good, because the transition was intense. My grandparents have spent the last couple decades going back and forth between Dayton, Ohio and Sarasota. They’ve been in the same house in Dayton for fifty-one years. The same place in Sarasota for twenty. And they just gave up both at the same time. I can’t imagine making that kind of a shift at the stage of their lives they are at, and it says something to me about their resilience that they can make the transition. But here they are, and they should be joining me for breakfast shortly.

I’m not sure how to talk about things these days. My friend Logan shot me a missive from Bogota a while ago where he said his life “was so busy being lived that words have a hard time keeping up.”

So now that I have some time and the desire to get back in touch with everyone, I’m sitting down to make the words keep up again. I’ll try to tell this in snapshots. It’s been two months and a lot of upheaval and more to come.

Two months ago, I found myself off my track. The mule-driving job had become extremely difficult for me due to brutal heat and an increased insanity out on the square. I was also running a poetry slam that I didn’t have the energy to keep running. I was worried about money, worried about saving. I wasn’t writing at all. Often tired. But the worst thing was that I was constantly staring at maps.

This is a pattern of mine. I love maps and I love travel. The issue for me is when I start planning trips that I am in no position to take. I’m staring at travel guides for Hawaii and maps of Mexico when I need to be writing, or working, or just living the existence I am actually in. When I’m planning what I’m going to do way down the road and obsessing over it, I take myself out of the present moment. The result is that I don’t enjoy my life because I’m not living it. I’m waiting to live something else, something I’ve made into a fantasy. This is a signal to me that things need to change.

So here’s the change:

I quit my job. I gave up the show. I started writing every morning (more on this in a moment), and I got a new, highly portable job as a copy editor. This is ideal work, not just because I’m pretty good at it and it uses my degree to earn me money (imagine that!), but because I can take it with me anywhere. I can work on the road, or I can work from home. And I don’t have to feel as bad if I glance at a map once in a while.

And what am I copy editing?

Bible study guides.

Yeah. I don’t believe it either.

The even better news in all of this is that I’m working on my book again, writing my second draft. I’ve developed a solid pattern with it. I get up every morning and ride my bike through the Bywater, over the tracks at Press Street, and park at a little coffee shop called Sound Café. I order a pot of Earl Grey tea, sit down and work on my book for three hours. Every day. Punch in and punch out. And I’ve also got a rotating crew of friends who come down and join me to write. Rhe, Jonathan, Zach, Andy, Aaron, Corina, and others will show up at various hours, sit next to me and get to work. The place has become our collective office, and it’s rare I don’t see somebody I know working during my time there.

My days in New Orleans open with this routine. Afterwards, I usually go home and make myself some lunch, then get to work on the manuscript I’m editing, if I have one to edit. I’ll play guitar for a while. I’ll go out in the evening to listen to live music and dance whenever the opportunity comes up. Then I go to bed, get up and do it again.

And that’s it. That’s pretty much my life right now. I talked to my grandparents about this yesterday and said the best thing about my thirties (so far) is that I’ve managed to create a life that is exactly the one I want. I also told them that they were a massive inspiration for that. My grandfather just celebrated his 90th birthday (complete with family reunion and musical entertainment), and my grandmother turns 90 in April. They’ve been married 65 years. I want to feel I’m living as full a life as they have. This year, I’ve felt that.

I’ve got some travel coming up in the next few weeks. I head back to New Orleans on Saturday, then leave a few days later for the west. I’ll be in New Mexico, Arizona and California for two and a half weeks. Albuquerque, Flagstaff, L.A. and the San Francisco Bay. That should wind up the summer, which has been a tricky season. New Orleans can get nasty in the summertime, but the heat and intensity is starting to break up. People are coming home, and more and more I’m hearing people say to each other, “Hey, when did you get back?”

I’ll be back in mid-October. Just in time for my birthday (which will mark two years of these updates), Halloween, and Dia de los Muertos. Right now, I can’t say what I’m more excited about; traveling, or coming home.

I think that’s all I’ve got for today. Life is being lived. And like Logan said, the words are having a hard time keeping up. I’ll send word from the road. And hopefully some good pictures too. It’s been four years since my last trip to the southwest, and this will mark my first visit to L.A. to see my sister’s new life. Details to follow.

Be good, and I’ll talk to you all soon.

All the good songs,

Nick

It's not the best picture of either of us, but it does prove we're not the same person.

Bragging on some friend redux

This is waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay overdue. No posts so far for all of September! Here’s why – new job, new season of volleyball, taking on more writing for PureSYTYCD, always with the freelance and some Novel meltdowns. Oh and you know, the social life thing. Cue manic laughter.

However, in the midst of all of that, I drove up to Baton Rouge with Jamey because she was asked to read in the EGSA Alumni Reading and I was asked to introduce another of the readers, Mary McMyne (who I’ve written about for 225 and here, as well). Honestly, even if Mary hadn’t asked that I introduce her, I would’ve totally have been there because the lineup was the literary equivalent to something like three of my favorite bands all headlining together. The third reader was the lovely and calm and talented Ronlyn Domingue, whose book The Mercy of Thin Air made quite a splash. So Mary did me a favor and gave me a great excuse to go to an event I would’ve paid really good (and really precious, right now) money for. These ladies are rock stars, though they generally blush when I say that.

And as I knew it would be, it was a fantastic evening. It reminded me, vividly, that I am a writer and what I want from my writing life. I want more evenings with writers like these, ladies I admire and adore. See picture for full definition the terms “writers,” “admire” and “adore”:

Emilie, Nolde Alexious, Mary McMyne, Ronlyn Domingue, Susan Kirby-Smith, Jamey Hatley

Haven’t talked about Ronlyn lately because she’s in the depths and the bowels of Book #2. But she’s going to be posting essays monthly on a site called The Nervous Breakdown. She read a phenomenal essay at the event that will be next month’s contribution. Check out the current essay now, called Fowl Freak-Out: A Vegetarian’s Tale. [9.14.09 I should say, Mary also writes for The Nervous Breakdown. Check out her first (hysterical and gross) piece here. Ronlyn's newest is a must. ]

And this reminds me. I said that I would tell y’all when the 225 piece I wrote about Rheta and Poor Man’s Provence was available and it’s up now on the magazine’s website, here.

A tale of a brave little phone who could

So I lost my cell phone yesterday while playing volleyball. There were very few places it could have gone, but there was a scramble when it started to rain as everybody grabbed up their things and ran off. The volume was turned up high and everybody I knew called the thing, so it seemed pretty clear nobody had it. Yet, I looked for it in the rain and it was no where in sight.

Out of sheer stubbornness (and hopefulness), because I couldn’t afford to pay $200 to replace a phone I paid $50 for, I went back to the courts today and there, in the middle of our court where it must have fallen out of my bag, was my cell phone. Half buried in sand and still on.

It still works! After almost 24 hours in wet sand, undoubtably being rained on some, the thing is still going. I cleaned it off, and so I have my cell phone back. I’ll never take my brave little cell phone who could for granted again (Sanyo flip phone for anybody who’s interested) and this is a perfect demonstration of why nobody can reach me while I’m playing volleyball. Usually, I don’t take it with me.