During Wind and Rain, rain and wind -- what is it Hardy says?
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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!
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Which to choose?
Steinbeck's East of Eden
OR
Rush's Mating
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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.
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Crazy = reading Styron's The Confessions of Nat Turner back to back with Khalifeh's Wild Thorns.
The rejection man comes to my email more often than the mailbox these days, what with so many journals doing online submissions now. He still sucks, though.
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