FRANK SINATRA AND ME ALONE IN MY CIVIC

It's been so long since my last entry that I forgot how to access blogger. And, when I tried to put Sinatra's photo in here, the process is different than before. What a mess. 

Nothing new to report. My poetry did appear in Adelaide. Still waiting for Zero Dark Thirty poem to appear. Wonder if it is delayed by the plague? 

I'm about 2/3 of the way through rewrite of novel The Porn Writer now. I keep sending out stories and poetry. 

Why do I mention, Sinatra? Lately, I've begun to carry several CDs in the Civic of music from my childhood, teens and twenties. Trying to reawaken an old self for, hopefully, creative purposes. Pete Seeger, Simon and Garfunkel, hits from 1941 when my parent's divorced and I turned 4. Sinatra of course. And Barbra Streisand too, but, you know what? She sounds trite and much too cutsey. Sinatra and the others hold up. I know Dylan ought to be in the mix too, but I don't have one of his CDs. 

As I announced in another venue, my prostate cancer remains in my prostate even thought my PSA made a leap. Just had bone and torso scans that came up clean. Feel energized to keep working after some falloff of energy. 

ROSEMARY CLOONEY AND MY BEATNIK YOUTH

"Hey, there, you with the stars in your eyes...." Ah, Rosemary Clooney and my youth! My age is showing. All I can say is that I'm happily writing again. Busy on rewrite of a novel I now call The Reprogramming of Frank Singletary.

My poems have appeared in Adelaide. I think I already reported that. Still waiting for poem in Zero Dark Thirty. Covid-19 may be delaying getting that literary magazine out. They haven't notified me.

I am quite happy to be writing again. Fulfills me to no end. The other night, I was reading a short story by Hemingway, "Banal Story". It inspired me to start one just like it, only set in our times. However, I was tired, it was late, and I couldn't get very far along. By next morning, the feeling that inspired the story was gone. So. There it sits in a computer file, a couple of inspired paragraphs that may never see the darkness inside a closed literary magazine.

THE SILENT BOOMER/ MORE POET THAN FICTION WRITER?

Coming home from drive on Rte 14

What can I say? Haven't made an entry here for ages. One reason is that I can't find this blog on my desktop computer, and Mertie is using my laptop for working at home. I am having more problems with technology than I can describe here. Smartphone is awful to deal with, and no one these days gives a damn about customer service. I carry around an image in my brain of smug young people sitting around laughing at my efforts to communicate.

A reason for not writing? No coffee shops to write in and no laptop, as I said. What I've been doing is driving around the beautiful Pacific Northwest. Driving around has always been a stress reliever for me. 

Some good news. Adelaide will be publishing four poems later this month. Still waiting for next issue of Zero Dark Thirty to come out with another poem recently accepted.  

Now out to drive around in the rain. I don't mind rainy driving. It has it's pleasures too. 

BEATNIKING IT ON THE ROAD

I'm still alive. You'd think I'd stay home and write my head off, but staying home feels like prison. No more coffee shops to write in. Have been getting out on the road and driving, listening to jazz, making videos. But, hit or miss, I have polished off two more short stories that I began months ago but set aside when they weren't going anywhere. So I'm happy enough, waiting for my poem to appear in Zero Dark Thirty.

Have weird feeling from time to time before I set out each day to drive or get a soy chai that no one is outside anymore, but, there they are at the Starbucks for "grab and go" service only. The Vancouver Mall is closed currently for at least two weeks. Some small businesses are really getting hurt. The potential for this Covid-19 is awful, but if too many people feel as I do—not very scared at all—then they'll be doing risky business for seniors like myself. What is only a cold for a young dancer in a bar is death for a guy at the supermarket. 

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PHILIP ROTH AND SILENT BEATNIK BOOMER ME

Nothing new to report except that some more short stories are appearing in my head out of the magical realm of the imagination. Still waiting for my copy of Zero Dark Thirty magazine with my lyric poem in it. It will be April, as I said, before I hear from Plainsongs about "one or more" of my poems there that have gone to the final readers. I got on the ball during the past weekend and sent out a short story and several groups of poems to various markets. 

Mertie and I are watching Sharp Objects an 8 episode limited series. I like those better than endless series that don't end till people get tired of the sameness of them. 

I'm trying to read Philip Roth's The Plot Against America.

Watched an interesting film Thoroughbreds last night, about two mentally ill young women. I liked it, but then, my taste is not the most popular taste. 

Can't believe it's been three weeks since last entry.