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Wednesday, March 30, 2011
One dog's bath...
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Sunday, March 27, 2011
"The best words in the best order."
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Poets search tirelessly for their words--live lifetimes seeking them out. Visit Frost's cabin in Ripton, Vermont and you'll see evidence of that on his cabin's walls. Or read Frost's collected works and see the never-quite-there revisions in the back matter. Rosen said, "The poem is the point at which our strength gave out." I can't imagine Frost ever giving in.
I used to think I was a poet, and loved the idea of the life––shacked up in a small cabin on the shores of Lake Webb, white wine at midnight speaking the 44th revision of a poem about Weld. Some of those poems landed in regional publications and one even found a place in Indiana Writes and was anthologized... but now, thirty years later, I know that I didn't work long enough for those words. I might be able to now.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Spring Snow Storms
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Winter hangs on...
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Poor Ry-Ry crashes on his surf board in the California surf
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Myles Visits
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Do I shed?
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"Damn straight. I shed small to medium-sized puppies! It's curious. When my writer needs a break from four-hours at the keyboard--where, by the way, he talks to himself a lot--he vacuums the rugs and takes pictures of me. Really, he needs a life beyond writing."
Monday, March 7, 2011
Just saying...
Seven months into my current writing project after nearly six years of collecting data... I went out in public for the first time in a week on Saturday and felt like I'd discovered a new planet. I was happy to get home–the writing life is not for light weights.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Another tough morning...
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