February 2, 2018

Good work from my senior writers. Any movement away from “white” writing is met with applause–even the use of quotation marks, which is somehow patriarchal. But still–. Played them In Hohe Rache so they would know with what intensity they must write.

Came home to one of the most amazing phone calls ever. It was the editor of Red Hen Press, and The Falls of the Wyona has won the Quill Prize and will be published this year. My second novel. I never imagined I would use those words. I had to ask him to repeat. He wants me to speak on a panel at AWP, so in an hour my plans for Spring Break were made– I will be in Tampa, a place that was not on my list an hour before. If only AWP were in Florence, all would be divine. I floated out of my house to the Magnetic, where Night Music had its first preview. Both local reviewers were there, but both are old friends, so I anticipate the best. The actors were perfection. The superfluous set had to be dragged about, so the scene changes were laborious, but that it the worst I can say.  J was there, requiring me to remember our brief affair, which he had the courtesy to remember as well. I caught myself thinking “he’s looking old.” Dear Jesus, what about me? So, in three months, Penial, an art show (however aborted) Night, Sleep, and the Dreams of Lovers, and The Falls of the Wyona. I am, for this time, treading air. I had a similar time in 1980 in Syracuse, but hardly since.

Droves of robins at my pond, tanking up for the next leg of their northwards journey.