"Writing does not exclude the full life. It demands it." --Katherine Anne Porter
I'm not sure I'm living up to the demand for a full life. I try; I do. But today is on the bland side.
Various news and thoughts:
Harper is including me in a calendar of its authors. I'm Miss November, if you can believe that. I should point out that this is a bibliophile calendar and not a lover-of-sexy-girls calendar.
If you want to meet a real Miss November, there's a rockin' editor by that name. She has the best hair God ever gave to a woman. Really.
I had the honor of writing a recommendation letter for one of my WriteFesters to Vermont. Speaking of WF, also have had numerous inquiries about next year but already decided that alumni get first dibs. It's only fair. They believed before the buzzy-ness.
Boot quest is going nowhere. I tried South Congress today. Some hopes for a used set in good shape--all red with something lizard at the toe for only $130--but no dice. Too small. Couple of really hot pairs at the actual Western wear shop, but everything I loved was at least $350 (up to $900). Who buys thousand dollar boots? Not Cyn.
This reminds me, Frances Hill (author of THE BUG CEMETERY, Holt 2002) told me recently that your feet keep growing or "spreading" for the rest of your life. Ever since then, I've had images of myself at 80, walking around in flippers. I think your nose and ears continue to grow, too. Hm. Probably time to start concentrating more on my personality.