October 5, 2019

Ribbon of silver through my window: that is the North when dawn gathers in the East.

Turbulent few days, the turbulence largely invigorating and positive.

My students over-sharing about their private lives. . .

A single towhee greeting the ribbon of silver. . . .

Back to the studio on Thursday– joy.

Discussion of how to get the Lincoln triptych ready for the stage. The Sublime is willing to put a surprising measure of energy into this. I go back in for a second post-reading revision.

Playwright H messages me that she has been eliminated from the Magnetic line-up for next year, assumes I have been too and wants me to ally with her in indignation. Her phone call was a masterpiece of thoughtlessness, as she spent the time touting what an asset she and she alone was to the theater, how they could not do without her, speaking to another playwright at the same theater. I received no news either nay or yea, and so was able to adopt a tone of patient indifference. I am not indifferent, but doubt things are as she described them.  Indignation must be very careful lest it veer to the irrational and retributive.

Party Thursday night to view the tape of our Stonewall concert. If you want too much excellent food, just whisper “pot-luck” to a group of gay men. I made an elaborate meat pie. Two big red dogs lunged into the library and ate dessert. The tape was Illuminating. Whatever was going on in terms of crowd-pleasing antics, we weren’t very good. We did not sing well, not accurately, not with balance or finesse or real dedication to the music. What were we dedicated to? Our choreography (however minimal) seemed engineered to draw attention from our iffy singing. We can in fact sing beautifully .. . . I think we can, that we have, that we could. This hurt others more than me. DJ was crushed. The faction that wants a “show” rather than a “concert” has taken permanent control. There’s no fighting that, but we can guard against being actually bad musicians? If we want to. Do we want to? S said that it sounded better live. I hope so.

Red Hen is ready to do my audiobook, and wants to know if I want to be the voice of my own book. I thought I was ready to try it, but then realized the voice the book needs is Apollo, not Zeus.

Reading by Lilace at Black Dome, where she worked when she was at Warren Wilson. A sound and lovely book at exactly the right time; it should do well. I bought her book and gave her mine, which is pretty much the way my professional life has gone.

Here I am at Saturday dawn, exploding with the ten things I have to do, with time for maybe two of them. Maud the cat has one tiny paw on my big toe, voting for my staying right here.