Location: St. Vincent & Grenadines

You were driving home in the dark on one glass-slippered heel, window sliced open and bathing in the snowliquor of the night air. We heard you singing, and couldn't bear to wake you.

29 April 2005

Leap into the ripe air, alive with eyes closed.

A close friend agreed to read and critique my shockingly filthy novel, and I am almost ashamed to say that after slacking away at that sucker for five years, it was actually a challenge for me to remain patient for the three or so weeks it took her to read it twice (once as a reader, once as a critic). But it was worth the wait. Her encouragement was heartening and her quibbles were unfailingly astute.

I now face the tragic task of executing several well-loved but ultimately unnecessary passages, tweaking a variety of sentences, and rethinking a crucial narrative strategy that probably should be altered, but is so imbedded in the central episode that it would take some time to reconfigure seamlessly.

Once I've done that, it's in my dear wife's hands. She'll go agent hunting, and from thence into the arms of capitalism.


So I'm going to see this six-hour Italian movie with Kev tomorrow. Why? Because I'm a movie slut, and I'm a glowing-review slut, and Kev is the only guy I know who would be up for something like this. I know that because he invited me. I reckon I'll probably post my reaction here. You reckon?


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