In frigid purgatorial fires...

Tomorrow I leave for the Gulf Coast - I've got a massive story to finish, so I'll spend at least a few nights in cheap motels. I want to find my Indian name, but that may be hard since I'll neither fast nor smoke peyote. Perhaps I'll just hold my breath until a vision comes.

I'm sick but on the mend. Heather and I declared a new holiday yesterday: Suck Day, the worst day ever (we both have the plague or something). But the writing meeting brought us out of our torpor. Chris wrote a very different, very huge story for this week, and Adam wrote the best thing he's ever written. And then I went home and shook through the night, reading Heather's poetry, and found one that's so brilliant I couldn't sleep. (I also drank a cup of coffee at ten, so that might have had something to do with it.) There's certainly stagnation - I keep saying it's been January every day since November - but there's the sense of things breaking.

These winter months have been nothing if not vital.

Comments

Anonymous said…
My message did show up you poophole!!!!!
Dan said…
Yes it did. You suck. I had fun last night...though my ears are still ringing from "Leaving on a Jet Plane."
ad said…
The warm sun always makes me anxious for movement. There is hope on the horizon...just head South and as the weather warms you will find it looming larger and larger.
Dan said…
I'll miss you guys, too. I'm starting to feel a little excited about things...

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