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Jen, Pudding House publisher, is pretty sure my chapbook will be released mid-month. She said I should cross my fingers. Done.

As for Al...


Anticipating a Hendry's trek. The Soj. Showing Scott the secret Hope Ranch path. Sitting by the Sibyl's outdoor fireplace. Breathing?


The SB Book & Author Festival

The most wonderful part of the event was meeting Jane Hirshfield. She is gracious, unassuming and someone you would hope to have tea with or a walk so that you could pelt her with questions. Her reading at the festival was so natural and unforced it was nothing less than riveting. She has been described as a "quietly powerful" poet, but the power in her poetry is far from tip-toed. How lucky for Santa Barbarans to have had her as their guest.

My reading took place in the SB Museum of Art's little cafe. 10am. Through the windows: gloom. No one could figure out the lights. But Mary Rose read first and she is one of those artists who explode--in an inspiring, mood-lightening way--before an audience. Her poem on one of the museum's paintings was extremely imaginative. She woke up the room.

I read, lost my place, forgot to wear my reading glasses until 1/2 way through the reading, remembered to have fun by the time I reached the last poem. My mother was appalled, wanted me to be louder and craved enunciation--but Scott (deaf in one ear) heard every word. Certain Santa Barbarans showed I haven't seen in years. The Sibyl, didn't show. She was righting a guest room trashed by my dad's dog, the limping-lamb I've been minding and who I asked the Sibyl to host while I was in town. The dog--the dog--I can't even go there. After Jane Hirshfield's reading, Scott and I answered the Sibyl's SOS, picked up the dog, thanked the Sibyl passionately, Scott confessed he was getting the flu and I drove us home. Bye-bye festival. Hello real life.

Back in Noho, the lights went out. Through our modest living room windows: gloom. We went to bed with the traumatized limping-lamb, cold medicine and the first season of LOST. Outraged by the canine's presence, the cats refused to engage.

No chapbook yet.

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