GRIM REAPER BRINGS GIFTS

Just discovered the College of Charleston's literary magazine Illuminations has accepted my poem THIRST. It will appear in the June 2021 issue. I now have two poems awaiting publication at the same time. Add those to the short story that just appeared in Kestrel, and I'm having a run of publication longer than at any other time in my life. 

Wouldn't you know that would be how it turns out... a run of success just when the Grim Reaper moves into my cellular basement to take up temporary residency there? This morning I was moved to tears and laughter as I took my morning drive. Death made everything feel more alive this morning, even my Barclay's Choice Privileges credit card seemed more colorful, more vibrant in my hand as I offered it to the barista. On my sunny morning dive, for a second, I looked forward to, embraced the experience of dying, a transcendent moment for certain which quickly passed. Then, thinking about my dearest wife, wanting to convince me to stop eating butter as if that will stop the cancer from spreading. To be loved so by that dearest to me of all humans? Wow! More tears of joy. Then laughter as I listened to KBOO, playing an old hit like Crying by Roy Orbison. Suddenly, young love fell into the absurdist camp, all my pain as a young man, all my divorces and love tangles became comedy of the highest order. Wow, such a surge of emotions the Grim Reaper brings with him!

THE SUN IS DEFINITIVELY OUT, BUT THE WIND....

The sun is blazing today, but a fierce wind blows, making a walk problematical. Got my two free copies of Kestrel in the mail. A very professional journal. I'm trying to read some of the poetry and stories in it other than my own. I have a difficult time reading contemporary work. I do. Seems a writer must be dead and well established in the cannon of literature before I give it the time of day. When I take the time, I find interesting stuff all the time, but time is really short now for me. I'm reading Hemingway and a contemporary Japanese author Haruki Murakami who's been translated into scads of languages. Now I learn his novel Norwegian Wood is not a representative work. Many of his younger readers were disappointed by it. A love story, plain and simple. I understand some of his other novels employ fantastical scenes and imagery.

CELEBRATION

Yes. I'm posting two days in a row. Wanted to celebrate that Open Minds Quarterly in Canada is buying my poem "Empty Cup Fallen On Its Side" for its spring issue. Look for it in May.

Some money is changing hands. Haven't experienced that since the Anglo-Welsh Review bought two poems way back when. I'm including a photo that someone took of me at about the time I wrote the poem in August, 1992. It's taken in front of the old farmhouse (my hermitage) I lived in for two very transcendent years just before I bought the little, gray house on Cannon Street in Spokane, Washington in which the poem entered my life. 
 

I'M STILL HERE

Hello! I'm still alive. The high risk cancer has not yet got me. Still writing (mostly rewriting) and fearfully sending things out. This photo came awhile back, a selfie, using a Nikon on a tripod. I was thinking of creating a website at the time and wanted an intellectual snap. Dreamy, looking up at the Cosmos.

    Recently, I copied out the last three chapters and the first chapter of Ghoul World, my scifi novel, worked each around a bit to submit to science fiction magazines. They are still doing well and pay their writers. So I'm giving them a shot. A little money might feel nice. Kestrel magazine is out, and I should receive my complimentary copies soon. Will be nice to see a story in hard copy.

IT'S ALL ABOUT ENDINGS

Guess who had a tooth removed? And who's a bit giddy with Hydrocodone? You're right. Me. The hole isn't permanent. Going for broke with an implant. But since this is a writer's blog, let me get to the point. Just finished watching What They Had. Ah, the trouble with endings. Elizabeth Chomko wrote and directed this little gem, but she had problems with it. The ending. I think she tried to end the film maybe four times.I recognized at least three potential endings. 

We writers? Don't we always struggle to get an ending right? I see it all the time in films and books. Sometimes, I get so philosophically above the craft that I realize no ending's right. When Mertie and I bought our last home in Spokane, Washington, I recall saying, "This is it. This is where I'll end my life." Then Mertie, my darling wife, decided she wanted to make a little more money. She deserved more money, she said, so we came to Vancouver, Washington for a better paying job. Now, I think this might be where I die, yet, Spokane is always on our minds. If only it weren't for the snow.

So you see? Life keeps going on after the artistic ending of any book, story, film or play. When I'm in that mood, endings trouble any creative endeavor for me. Fact is that for each of us there is only one ending, and who doesn't know what that is?

OLIVETTI TYPEWRITERS AND DRINKING ADVENTURES

Just had to make this entry. I was going through some old files in a filing cabinet I hadn't looked at in decades. I found all these manuscripts that I typed on my old, wonderful Olivetti portable. I gave the typewriter to one of my hippy roomies when I left Dayton, Ohio to head to California. I was skipping out on the rent and gave him the typewriter as partial payment. Those were my drinking days. Such a transaction fits the type, eh?

I never made it to California. I thought my brother had a job for me with his pavement striping company out there. Turns out, he didn't own that company. He was selling drugs instead. His mother, my stepmother, informed me just as I was getting ready to drive away. So, instead, I drove South with a plan to find work on shrimp boats. Ended up in Mobile, Alabama. I almost achieved that goal, but that is another tale altogether that includes my six month marriage to a Southern gal which is another story. So many tales. 

Anyway, the Olivetti was a fine machine and typed very presentable manuscripts. I can date the manuscript to pre-1973. I would get sober in 1976, so I was well gone toward the end of my downward spiral. PS: I don't believe I ever sent this ms anywhere. Thinking I might dust it off and give it a whirl.

KESTREL BUYS (i.e. ACCEPTS) JOE B. TANNER'S PICKUP

 

YES. A CELEBRATION. My short story "Joe B. Tanner's Pickup" is selected by literary magazine Kestrel at Fairmont State University in West Virginia for publication. 

Interesting side note. (Well) interesting to me at least. Last night, I stayed up till 1:30 am rewriting that Tanner story and submitted it to Cutbank in Missoula, MT. Shortened the tale by 400 words. I think slightly improved it. As I say, nothing I create is finished until it's published. 

Kestrel had my story for 5 months. They said don't query until 3 months have passed. I queried them. So in same 24 hours, I queried Kestrel, rewrote and submitted story to Cutbank, and this morning voila! I told Kestrel about the rewrite and offered to send it to them. Awaiting there response.

By the way, both literary magazines accept simultaneous submissions.