December 4, 2007

Thomas B spent last evening here. We had enough time together, and enough Pinot Grigio, that I saw a silly, antic, unguarded side to him that makes me smile. People should understand how attractive silliness is, for the most part. He seems astonished when I tell him I’ve met no one like him, but it’s no more than the truth. Beautiful teeth. Eyelashes like a movie star. He smokes so much that every half hour or so we have a session outdoors on the arctic porch, so much that I cough getting close to his coat. But, still, I smile, as I am smiling now. He brought me fragments of his first play, which is about “straight” men discussing their homosexual liaisons. He’s a good writer. It’s paralyzing when a friend asks you to read his work, and it’s awful, but his is not awful, so I may speak honestly to him– or rather the delicacy one strives for involves more specific things than the question of whether he should be writing at all. I wonder if I’m unguarded with him? I tell him anything he asks, but I am not, and never have been, much of a volunteer when it comes to intimate conversation. Hope he does not take that personally.

Richmond’s book turns out not to be a novel but a travelogue, and an engaging one. Relief there too.