During Wind and Rain, rain and wind -- what is it Hardy says?
The storm washed out the roads, so K.'s boss sent him home early. With K. here to distract Monkey (AKA, our Jabber-dog), I headed upstairs to work on submissions. Thus far this season, I've only sent out three batches of poems. The two-headed bird/manuscript has eaten up most of what I have left, which means new drafts and slim pickins'. I'm still sitting on a few poems composed in June -- hope these come to fruition eventually...In the meantime, four stuffed envelopes go out tomorrow. Rejection man, be damned!
Which to choose?
Steinbeck's East of Eden
No matter how many games I lose, Facebook's Scrabble calls me. It's the worst source for addicts who need a word-hit. Unlike with writing, the letters come fast and loose.
Crazy = reading Styron's The Confessions of Nat Turner back to back with Khalifeh's Wild Thorns.