Some Days, Anything Is Wonderful
Some days, anything is wonderful. In its detail, in its chainlink leading into the rest of the physical and conceptual cosmos, anything is wonderful.
-Albert Goldbarth, "Mishipasingham, Lumchipamudana, etc."
February 24
And some days, everything is wonderful for a reason. Or reasons.
I got up early to the sound of rain and rustling plastic (the nearly-wrecked house next door is covered in tarps and heavy plastic like some particularly modern and derelict architectural mummy). Timprov and Marissa arrived, and I treated them to breakfast at Zachary's (my favorite breakfast place, and it's almost as close to my house as Pergolesi is-- thus proving the further coolness of my address). They've fed me many times, and I'm glad I had the chance to finally return the favor.
We spent the morning frolicking and such, and wound up at the coffee shop around noon. We spent the next three hours vainly attempting to work and very successfully managing to talk a lot, about collaborations and Deep Structures and albino cave fish and blind pianists and singing robots and editorials. Good stuff.
Marissa rules (Timprov rules too, but I've got a particular facet of Marissa's rulishness in mind right now). I've been doing my little dare this month with waxing and waning enthusiasm, and lots of bitching, and expository lumps, and all that. Meanwhile, this past week Marissa has quietly written 7 stories. A story a day. These are not 200 word short-shorts, either, nor are they silly pieces of escapist fluff (not mostly, anyway; I don't know details about all of them). Meanwhile, she's working on her New Novel.
She's an inspiration, y'all.
She gave me Albert Goldbarth's book Heaven and Earth, A Cosmology, with some trepidation, because picking out poetry for someone is always chancy. But oh, she chose well. It's a fine book, and I'll probably finish reading it tomorrow.
I wandered downtown for a while after they left, thinking, reading Heaven and also Kage Baker's The Garden of Iden. I walked over bridges and through little squares, I sat on damp benches and looked at the sky. Eventually came home and talked on the phone to Meg, who had a rough sort of day. It's the law of conservation of fun-- if I have a good day, she has a bad one. Unless we're together, in which case we usually have the same sort of day. She'll be here in less than two weeks, and there will be merriment and rejoicing then, I assure you.
M'ris and Timprov brought my pear juice! I've already had like three glasses of it. Whoo! Yum yum yum.
I wrote some actual, good poetry tonight, partially inspired by Goldbarth. Mostly it's just that my poetry-center started working correctly, all the bits were in phase, and poems were emerging in a beautiful fashion. I spent much of the evening taking notes and working on poems-- and, as a result, largely neglected fiction writing. Ah, well. I take it as it comes, yes? The fiction writing was mostly backfill, actually, adding a couple of small but essential scenes. Scenes that will actually survive the total tear-down and restructuring that this story is going to have to undergo.
I also took a nap. I take those as they come, too. I rarely feel the need to nap, but for some reason I was just worn out this afternoon. I keep expecting to dream of lions and manticores, given the subject matter of my current story, but it hasn't happened yet. I dreamed of plains, and meadows, and bare-metal staircases, and of trying to ask women out. Strange.
In the mood for some passive/vegetative entertainment, I rented Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai tonight. Brian recommended it to me ages ago. It is an incredibly strange film, but quite well made, and I liked it a lot.
Now I think more reading, and then some sleep, and then lots of work tomorrow. Finishing "Romanticore," (I hope), sending crits to Marissa and to Mike Jasper, proofing an essay for Meg, getting stories ready to go back in the mail... lots to do, but it's varied enough that I shouldn't get bored or annoyed.
Total Word Count: 42,052
Today's Word Count: 1,370
The Daring Darlings: