Yeah, That’s You, Yeah

I’ve written more here since I’ve gotten the blog together than I wrote in a month at My Heart’s Porch.  May be something you’ll have to get used to.

The above is Modest Mouse, a band I could go on and on about.  They’re great.  We’ll leave it at that.  The first post here, “The Blog That Ate Itself,” is a riff on one of their albums.

I’ve been skipping over an important part of my life here.  It could be that I’m trying to rein myself in a bit, make this place more formal.  But that’s dishonest to the purpose of this blog, if not the site, and I’ll never be able to confuse my writing with my blogging, try as I might to blur the lines on here at times.  So, without further distraction: I’ve got this lady friend.  We’re counting down the days until we get to see each other–we’ve never met, see.  But we’ve talked for what seems like ages.  We have all the inside jokes of a couple and we complete each other’s sentences and we have trouble sleeping or doing pretty much anything without hearing the other’s voice.  It’s not perfect, but I’m finding it’s much closer to than I’ve ever been before.  We both write.  On opposite ends of the spectrum.  She’s masterful at delving into the mind, digging up pieces of heart, laying things bare.  I…write dirt good.  Which isn’t trying to sell myself short, but sometimes I’m in awe of her ability.  I wouldn’t even know where to begin.  That’s the craft.  And that’s her.  I don’t think I can do much better.  And if I can I don’t want anyone to tell me.  Have I mentioned she’s pretty as the stars at evening?

I made good on my vow and got through 2,000+ words.  The count is up to 8,386.  I couldn’t tell you the last time I wrote so much in a day.  What’s more, I finished off with a really decent scene, ended up surprising myself, tying things in where I didn’t know I could.  I love the work–now if I could just get paid for it.

Which brings me, sort’ve, to my last point of the evening.  I fired off a quick thanks to the editor of The Collagist for the encouragement, and he sent a reply right back.  I’ve had some dealings with editors before, and publishers, and agents.  And they do a good job of making me seem little even when they’re apologizing for half-year delays.  But Mr. Matt Bell has proven to be cut from a different cloth.  So, if I seemed halfhearted in my endorsement of the journal before, let me put that to bed.  Not only is The Collagist a tight piece of work, it’s also run by a damn nice fellow.  Can I cram any down home sayings into this paragraph?  No?  Then I guess we’re done.  Go take a look.

While I’ve got you on the horn, have I mentioned Circumlocution to you?  They’re in need of fiction submissions.  And I can vouch for one of the editors as being something like a saint.  I wouldn’t be sitting here today without his help.

Is this what the lotus does to you?  It’s not quite so soothing as I thought it would be.  Maybe I’m too far from the ocean.