December 22, 2012

Cold and windy yesterday. Not that could nor that windy, but more than we were used to. I learn from the cats how much time can be spent curled up among the blankets.

Ruminate Magazine emails with the news that “Saturdays He Drove the Ford Pick-Up” has won their fiction prize. I read an interview with last year’s winner, and the whole enterprise is very serious indeed. So is the money that comes with it. Three short stories of mine have won big prized in the last year and a half. Maybe it’s time to get together a collection. Maybe it’s time to write another story.

NC Stage last night for the premier of Jacob Marley’s Christmas Carol. It was by far my most serious effort at producing (setting aside New York and London of bitter memory) and, so far as I could see, a resounding success. Michael was a force of nature as the one portraying all the characters, an actor working for two hours at absolutely the highest level. The play itself was good, founded upon one of the true and ever-rewarding classics. Received much praise for “producing,” though all I did was sign a check. But that is what art needs more than anything else: for someone to sign the check and get out of the way.

Tried to get my shaggy locks shorn, but there was no room in the barber’s chair.

Brought M and A the painting Solstice for their unborn son, Sean.