The Sylynnvia Half-Marathon

My friend Sylvia and I are going to plan and run our own half-marathon. We were going to run the Salt Lake Half-Marathon until we discovered that it is mostly down hill. So on Sunday, September 3, we will run our own 13 mile "race." I'm thinking of having t-shirts made, just to make it official. The upside is that it is also free. We are going to enlist our husbands and sons to be our support crew, providing water, gatorade and cheering at designated mile markers. (Let this serve as an invitation to all you runners who want to join us. . .let me know and I will tell you where/when).
Sylvia's running the Boise Marathon in November, so it will just be a little warm up for her. For me, it will be the culmination of my summer training. When it's over, I think I'm going to follow some kind of triathalon training program. I want to run less and maybe swim more. I'm not quite sure how I will fit in the biking.
After I ran eight-miles this morning, Middlebrow, Son and I went to the farm stand at 9th & 9th and bought peaches, blueberries and corn. I made a Peach-Blueberry cake, which is currently baking and filling the house with amazing smells. We just ate some of the corn for dinner. It was delicious. The past few days we haven't really had anything that would pass for "dinner." More like a few vegetables, some bread or rice, and maybe something else, some leftover beans?, put on a plate. I call it the Farmer's Market dinner. It's best when we get some amazing bread from Crumb Brothers and eat that with some sliced tomatoes. As far as I'm concerned, that's dinner. (Must be the Iowa farm girl in me. . .).

The Ten-Mile Run

So Friday night I set my alarm for 7. Before I went to bed, I reset it for 7:30. When it went off in the morning, I turned it off. This did not bode well for my (planned) 10 mile run. So by the time I got up and got dressed, it was 9. I drank a lot of water and ate some Skittles. Why not? When I started running, I thought maybe I'll just run 6. Then I thought, well, maybe I'll do 8. So when I finally headed up City Creek, (about 3.5 miles into the run) I thought, I'll just go to the one-mile marker and see how I feel. But I didn't see the one-mile marker and when I got to the 1.5 mile marker, I thought, well, I'm almost to 2. Then I just kept going and I even passed the 3-mile marker, because I didn't see it. As I was running down the hill, I thought, boy, am I going to be sore tomorrow.
I am a bit sore. But I ran the 10 miles (don't ask my time. I had read in a magazine "you can't run the long runs too slow." So I followed that advice) and then I went to a birthday party and ate the world's best Chile Verde and I had a piece of chocolate cake and two margaritas (not in that order). I feel pretty proud of myself. I'm not sure I want to run a half-marathon, but now it certainly seems possible that I could, in fact, finish one. It might take me two and a half hours, but I could finish.
Now, I guess, I'm ready to start preparations to go back to school. As soon as we finish watching the third season of "Six Feet Under."

The (Inevitable) End of Summer or Camping to Avoid Reality

Yes, it's true. Summer is winding to a close. I can hear the theme music rising in the background. I must prepare myself for the credits and the inevitable exit into the glaring sunlight of reality. But first I must go camping with Middlebrow and Son. I, of course, am the instigator of said adventure. Middlebrow likes to go, but he would never suggest it. I don't think he likes sleeping on a thin pad on the ground. I like to go. Mostly I love an excuse to eat hot dogs and smores. I also love hiking and then coming back to camp and wading in the stream to cool off my feet. I like it when my clothes smell like wood smoke. I don't love sleeping on the ground on a thin pad, but maybe we just need better equipment.
Once when MB and I were in grad school we went on a backpacking trip with a few grad school friends. Two of them were a married couple (still married! with child!) who had the best camping gear I've ever seen. We all set up separate tents (them in one, MB and I in another, the three single folks in another). When they got their tent set up and we looked in, well, it was like looking into the Four Seasons from the Motel 6. One of my friends, Gary, hiked up with a can of Cheez Whiz in his backpack and nothing to drink but a bag of wine (he removed the box before cramming the foil wine pouch into his backpack). Another friend, Susan, looked like a toothpick carrying a turtle on her back. At one point she did fall over and couldn't get up. I think the backpack, empty, may have weighed more than her. Yes, this was the famous trip when, in the middle of the night, after listening to me complain that his side of the tent was somehow superior to my side, Middlebrow yelled "You wouldn't last ten seconds on this side of the tent!" In the morning we discovered that MB had been sleeping on the bag of tent stakes all night. It was under the tent. So maybe it's not all about the gear, but is about being smarter, somehow, than the gear.
So tomorrow we head out, not too far, for a few brief days of camping. I'm ashamed to say it is our first and only camping trip this summer. I'm not sure where the summer's gone. . . (don't we say that every year?) but it has been a good one. Camping will provide me with the opportunity to make coffee with a stovetop espresso maker (thank you Tony Caputo's!) and to avoid preparing for the start of school for at least a few more days.
When we return, we will attend a Stinger's game (all praise Thirsty Thursday!), also the first/only of the season. Again, where has the summer gone?
One last note: I cannot claim to have been "successful" at NaNoWriMo (or whatever) but I did write 20,000 words (so far!). I'm not giving up. But I have to scale back my expectations. Maybe I'll try to write 20,000 words next month too. Or something.
In other news, I am going to run a half-marathon in September. I figure if I can run 10 miles this Saturday I can do it. Even if I walk some of it. Hey, it's better than sitting on the couch. And when I finish, I can have a big piece of chocolate cake! (Not right after, but maybe after lunch or something. . . )

Blog Drought and a Dearth of Intriguing Novels

I apologize for my notable absence. I wish I could say that all my writing prowess is being spent on my amazing (shitty) first draft of my novel. But, alas. I have learned that I am a good every other day writer. I can write 2,000 to 3,000 words, every other day. So my average is good. I want to blame my lack of writing on my amazing fitness schedule. I have been very good on that score. I have been running or swimming every day, with the requiste two days off. And my clothes fit better, though I am sticking with my goal to never step on a scale (except for those yearly visits to the dr). I am tan and fit looking. But I can't seem to give up french fries (for this I blame Middlebrow) or chocolate (no one to blame for this but myself). So I realize I will never look like those women who look like they do nothing all day but lift weights, run and eat protein. But then again, I get to eat chocolate, so screw those health club women. (I feel better now).
In other news, I keep picking up books, wanting desperately to get sucked into a book I can't put down. Then I don't get sucked in and I set the book down, disappointed again. Recently I have started The Corrections (what's up with that first chapter? If I had to read anymore descriptions of the stacks of magazines in various locations around the house, I was going to scream!), The Ten Thousand Things (our book club selection. yawn. I admit it, I am shallow. I don't like books that start with ten page descriptions of the setting. I just don't.), The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (this I liked, but I was at B&N and I didn't want to buy it. But I saw the trailer for the movie and now I want to read it because I want to see the movie), and Summer in the Land of Skin.
Ahem. Just a word about this last one: I am sucked in. Against my will. This book was written by a woman I went to school with at WWU. Middlebrow claims she was "weird" and she did have this weird eye thing. But to me she was just overly sexual. When I first met her we were both teaching intro to writing and we were writing ice breaker lists for our students (you know, find someone who grew up in Idaho, etc.) and the one she wrote is "Find someone who knows what Keigel exercises are." I mean, is this appropriate for Freshman Composition? Then she went on to write a paper about "Sexual Tension in the Classroom." I think sexual tension exists in the classroom, but you don't have to wear see-through white billowy shirts and make it worse. Enough said.
Anyway, the book is actually pretty good. I'm not sure someone who never lived in Bellingham (where it is set) would like it as much. Also: it is "based on" real events. I know that the main character "Arlan" is actually this guy named Arlan. I was friends with him and Middlebrow used to go on benders with him once in awhile. The way he is described in the book: exactly how he looks. And the book is dedicated "To Kathryn" Arlan's girlfriend. Except in the book she's named Lucy and she's kind of a psycho bitch. Anyway, there's lots of sexual tension in the book and I'm only about sixty pages in, and there's already been a masturbation scene. So, I guess I'll read on. Plus, it's like reading someone's diary. Someone you know, who dishes about who slept with whom, and why, all while describing drinks and parts of Bellingham that I miss. Also, I respect her for actually sitting down and writing a book. I mean, she finished it. Who the hell am I to criticize?
The book has made me a bit nostalgic for my time in Bellingham, when I thought I was sexier than I probably was (much like the narrator, Anna), and I spent a little too much time in dark bars (when a bartender, Richard Buckner actually, offered me a free Guiness before noon, I knew I had to stop going there), and when I was a little too self assured about the longevity of said sexiness and my ability to surf that into infinity, and when I drank a little too much (but I also lifted weights and rode my bike everywhere, so it was probably okay), and I lived in a studio apartment and drank coffee from a stovetop espresso maker. Oh, hipness, Where hast thou gone?

Word Count and Pocatello goes Newsweek!

Today's word count: 11,229 (which means I wrote 3,000 words today, but am still behind)

In the Newsweek that arrived today, there was an entire article devoted to people who are buying investment property in my hometown of Pocatello, Idaho. The article said that prices are going up there, and that the University provides a steady pool of renters. Most of the investors had not even visited Pocatello, but had bought their properties through local agents. A few of the real estate agents cautioned that people should actually visit the town before buying there. Granted, housing prices there have languished until recently. When I was in high school, my mom bought a house for $60,000. I think she made a small profit when she sold it, but I drove by it last year and it looked like crap. Whoever bought it had painted the trim green. Anyway, I'm sure it would still sell for much more that $60,000. Pocatello might have below average housing costs, but it lacks one thing that makes sure that houses increase in value: jobs. Since I lived there, it seems like jobs have been leaving the area in a steady stream. Another thing: there are maybe two decent restaurants in the whole town. Sometimes good restaurants open, but just as quickly they close.
On the bright side, Poky does have a good, independent bookstore: The Walrus and Carpenter, downtown. But the downtown is so pitiful and has been for so long, that I'm not sure it can be saved. My best friend's mom once owned a funky toy shop downtown, but it closed. She also owned one of those good restaurants, with amazing soup, but it also closed. The one consistent good source of food: Buddy's. Salad and pizza. I am also pleased to note that on our last pass through Pocatello, I stopped (for nostalgic reasons) for a Space Burger at the Tastee Freeze. It wasn't as good as I remembered, but it was about the same, so maybe I've changed. (At least I hope so. The 80's hair is gone, at least).

Live from the Salt Lake City Library!

I am having one of those "urban moments." I came here to our lovely downtown library to work on my (somewhat failing) novel month adventure. I did okay, writing the requisite 2,000 words to make up for my three slacker days. So now I'm up to 8,591 words. And my character, Kate, actually left the house and had a conversation with another person. So that's good.

Middlebrow and I (okay, most Middlebrow) have been cleaning in anticipation of City Clean Up. We put our old swamp cooler out on the curb yesterday. In what must be some kind of Clean Up record, it was promptly picked up by a man with two children in a Suzuki SUV of some kind. I think the elapsed time between setting it out and him taking it was maybe 20 seconds. Maybe.

That's my update from Novel/Library headquarters. I must run now, so I do not receive a ticket on the car.

Park City Writers' Retreat

I have just returned from my 24 hour writers' retreat with two friends from Writers at Work. The retreat was at a board member's house. We sat on her deck and wrote; went to a coffee shop for lunch and "writing" (I talked to Sylvia and browsed for books); went back to the house for writing & reading; went for a 2 hour hike; drank wine at another writer/friends house; went back to Retreat Central; took showers while our hostess made Pork Loin stuffed with feta, apricots and spinach!; ate "dinner" around 9:30 on the patio while we drank wine. I read a chapter of Angle of Repose before going to sleep. Got up around 7:30 this morning for a bit of yoga, coffee, fruit salad, and toast on the patio while we watched a few hot air balloons pass overhead. All in all, it was like going on vacation, even though I was only half-an-hour away. It was nice. I did miss Son and Middle-brow. I wished, for a few minutes, that we had our own cabin/retreat, but one that was far, far away from other people. It could be my writing cabin/summer home. Sounds good, doesn't it?
I think I am behind now on my word count. I didn't write at all on Thursday (I was trying to give Middlebrow the whole day since I left on Friday). Yesterday I wrote by hand, so I probably only wrote a thousand words. So I have to catch up today and tomorrow.
Middlebrow is urging me to finish. He wants to go furniture shopping. We really want to put the old couch out on the curb for City Clean Up.

Writing the Novel AND Why I Hate The Historian

I started my attempt at National Novel Writing Month (known as NaNoWriMo). On the first day the word count goal is 1,667 words (or something). I wrote 2, 450. I think it's the only day I will be ahead, so I'm bragging. Don't ask me next week when I'm behind by 5,000 or so words. Shall I share one line from my new version of the novel I've been working on? Okay, I just looked at what I wrote and I can't bear to reveal any of it here. Which must mean I am taking NaNoWriMo to heart and have kenneled my Inner Editor. So you'll just have to wait until August 12 (the day after I finish my novel!) to see if I can bear to reveal any of it here, to you, my faithful readers.

In other news, I am incredibly irritated by the release and instant Best Seller status of The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. First, Random House paid two million dollars for the book, so of course they are going to promote the hell out of it (articles in Time and Newsweek; full page ads in The New York Times and New Yorker, etc, etc, etc.). Second, it's getting press for no other reason than. . . Random House paid two million for it. "It's the next DaVinci Code!" As if we all needed another reason NOT to read it. But at least the New York Times didn't fall in line and praise it. Henry Alford (the reviewer) didn't hate it, but he hated the tricks it employed and the many references in the book to "writing" or "scrivenings." He said it makes him feel "ready to skin a small animal." Ha!
But the most irritating thing, to me, is that BookSense (the consortium of small book sellers) has chosen The Historian as it's top pick for this month. Why? Does this book need any more support? To me, the point of small bookstores is to tell me about the books I wouldn't normally hear about, the small, quiet book that might never make the Best Seller list, but should; the book that will quietly continue to sell decades after the DaVinci Codes and Historians are taking up space in used book stores. Every time I look at the Fiction Best Seller list I want to weep. There is no book on the hardback Fiction list that I even want to read! On paperback, I am happy that The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time is there. It redeems the otherwise lowbrow selection. On the paperback NonFiction, I'm happy to see David Sedaris maintaining his reign. Actually, the nonfiction list is suprisingly good: Malcom Gladwell's book is there, as is The Devil in the White City, and Guns, Germs, and Steel, and Under the Banner of Heaven. So the nonfiction list gives us reason for hope. I should switch to nonfiction?
Well. Please join with me in not reading The Historian (or at least check it out of the library rather than buying it). Instead, visit your local small bookstore and ask them to recommend a book you've never heard of by a writer you've never heard of but will love. Middlebrow has promised to argue with people who insist that The Historian is a good book, even though he refuses to read it. Can you get more Middlebrow than that?

Mosquito Bites, Cowboy Boots, Alcohol

Here's my postcard from Island Park: we were beset by mosquitos, due to the incredibly wet spring, everyone got way too many bites. The highlight of the trip, for me, was the purchase of Son's new cowboy boots in West Yellowstone. We had looked at boots in Park City, where the cost was beyond prohibitive ($50). But we found a pair on sale in West Yellowstone. Son put them on immediately, with his shorts, and walked around town with his hands in his pockets, a decided swagger in his step. We had seen Old Faithful earlier, waded into the Madison, seen an eagle, a moose and some elk, but the trip was all about the boots. Son was disappointed that he didn't get to see a Real Cowboy, but I promised him that some live around Salt Lake and that we would go on an expedition to find one. I also told him we might see a cowboy or two at the Fair, when it comes to town (last year the highlight for him was the Butter Cow).
Aside from the mosquito bites, the trip was really marked by excessive consumption of beer, and the best margaritas I've had for awhile (it was the fresh limes and the company, I'm guessing).
Oh, did I mention that someone forgot to put my bag in the car? That's okay. I purchased a Supergirl T-shirt (selected by Middlebrow) at the K-Mart in Rexburg along with a pair of shorts. So I had two outfits for the trip.
The mosquito bites hardly even itch anymore. Did I mention how much I love showers? I love showers. Just when I think I am reviving my brief stint as a Nature Girl, I run smack into the brick wall of my own love of Modern Conveniences, such as showers and indoor plumbing and the refrigeration that gives us ice to be the rocks in our margaritas. Sigh. I should just let Middlebrow convince me of the sanity of car camping. It's true that ice does not do well with the whole backpacking ethos.
Ahh, it's good to be back home!

Not Drowning, But Waving

No, I have not abandoned the bloggerhood. I have been consumed with family visits and some other things, only I can't remember what they are. My mother and her husband visited from Phoenix. They got a condo in Park City and we all went up and stayed there. It was much cooler and this visit was the best yet to PC, I think because I went for a run each day on the Rail Trail. Despite how great PC is, it is also terribly depressing. Evidence: art galleries. There are too many on Main Street and what they sell can only loosely be called "art." I'd call it western kitch or it-will-match-your-color-scheme. We did find one cool gallery, Coda, with amazing paintings and some cool handmade furniture and interesting metal work. In my opinion, it was the only art there.
The other depressing thing about PC is the incredible development. We drove up to Guardsman Pass (?), and there is so much building going on up there, it made me sick. Tons of houses. PC is going to become just like Estes Park or Aspen or Sun Valley. It will be killed by too much development and then the reason it was so interesting in the first place will cease to exist and what will be left? Lots of fancy hotels and resorts and condos for people who don't really like the outdoors (because they've destroyed it with their Hummers and "cabins"), but who like to look at "nature" from their million dollar decks. But soon they will just be looking at other million dollar decks. sigh.
So that's my rant for the day.
We're off to Island Park for a few days to stay with my dad and his wife. My sister will be in from Michigan with her two kids. Son is very excited about playing catch with lone boy cousin. Much bonding will happen, I'm sure, especially over Smores.

Of Bill Murray, the New TV, & the End of W@W

First things first: Last night Middlebrow and I watched "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou." Despite the fact that it included, in addition to Bill Murray, my other favorites Owen Wilson and Willem DaFoe, the movie was not good. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either. It was incoherent. I didn't care about any of the characters, despite being predisposed to love Bill Murray in just about anything. It was visually stunning at times, but about halfway through it underwent a bizarre genre shift to action/adventure. The highlight, I have to say, was the Portugese versions of David Bowie songs.
Second things: Middlebrow gave in to my hysterical whining and purchased a new TV this morning so that I could watch Wimbeldon coverage. Our old TV (which we bought just months after moving to SLC, once we got bored of drinking margaritas and playing Spite and Malice, because we were the only people we knew in SLC. I can't remember the first movie we watched on it, but that was seven years ago) mysteriously "broke" this morning after we let Son do some unsupervised TV viewing, because he woke up at 5 a.m. Why, you ask, did he wake up at 5 a.m.? It seems that, unbeknownst to MB and DW, who were watching the movie, last night Son got out of bed and changed out of his pull-up and back into his underwear. Around 5 a.m. his bladder gave out, prompting him to undress in the middle of the kitchen and then run into our bedroom proclaiming, "I pooped in my pants!" I didn't know about the furtive wardrobe change, but found the pull-up wedged between his closet and his small dresser. Ah, children! The joys, etc!
Let me just say that the new TV is so worth it. I got to watch a fantastic match between Roddick and Grosjean (whose first name is Sebastian, btw). And now I can watch the matches between Venus and Sharapova (go Venus! I have to root for Venus. It's her comeback!), and between Davenport and Mauresmo (I will most likely root for Lindsay, because she's American, but I really don't care who wins. It will be a fantastic match, I predict.)
And in Writers at Work wrap-up: The final reading was quite good, with Michael Downing my absolute favorite. His reading from Breakfast with Scot was funny and touching. Pam Houston's reading was fine, but a little fast. I'd already read the book, so I knew what was coming. I had to leave the reading early so I could help arrange the fabulous food: bruschetta from Martine, salmon from Wild Oats, salads from Noodles & Co, wine from a box. What could be better? Oh, and desserts from The Paris (I especially love the pecan/chocolate pie thing). See how the readings get one line and the food gets three? I have my priorities straight. Kevin McIlvoy is overall my favorite person. Ever. Without reading any of my novel, he gave me many ideas to get me restarted. So I'm indebted to him. And my favorite reading was the Young Writers. Some amazing, amazing stuff. Very impressive. Richard Frost was a close second, mostly because he was so surprising. He seemed like a very mild mannered sweetheart (which he is) but his poems were funny and shocking and great. See his "For My Brother" if you need some proof.
Next year (so far) we have lined up Suzanne Paola (for nonfiction) and Bruce Beasley (for poetry). We also hope to bring FC2 (publisher/editor) and someone from a poetry press, like Graywolf. We are also bringing Susan Strayed for the Young Writers.
I'm enjoying the perfect weather and the fact that I have no obligations for the next week or so. My mother and her husband arrive Friday and we will be spending some time with them in Park City over the next week. Then we head up to Island Park next week to see my dad, and my sister and her kids who are flying in from Michigan. Family mania!

Another Day, Another Dinner

Last night was Brenda Miller's reading. She read some great stuff, two pieces from her first collection (one of which appears on brevity, it's called "Split"). I felt very inspired to write more after her reading which, for me, is a sign of great work. It's inspirational. She and I also had some great discussion (earlier, when we were shopping instead of hiking) about making the classroom a more contemplative/reflective space. I think all the teaching of argument I've done in the past seven years has worn me down. Brenda is attending a workshop at Smith about meditation and education, so I look forward to hearing more about it from her. After our discussions I decided in the next creative writing class I teach I'm going to bring "objects" and require students to write about them: a loaf of bread, a flower, a photograph, an orange. The best essays, in my mind, are those that range broadly and freely, and usually begin from stopping and looking deeply at something, even for just a moment. So my time with Brenda has really helped me to start thinking about teaching in a different way, and ways teachers can set up or influence the space/feeling of the classroom.
After Brenda's reading, the board and faculty went to an amazing house in Federal Heights for a dinner. It was great. The view was fantastic, the company/conversation was fun, the woman who hosted us was gracious. Her husband is retired and has taken up photography so there were amazing huge photographs of flowers all over the house. Truly wonderful. And the dessert! Let's just say I love chocolate and I love layer cake, so there you have it.
I stayed up too late, but managed to make my consultation this morning. Carol was a generous reader and gave me many good suggestions for improving my story. Actually, after the consultation I felt a little down. Not because of her comments, but because I don't really want to work on the story. I'm not sure if it's because I'm lazy or if I've just moved beyond that story. She did like the characters and encouraged me to revise it. I think I'm just exhausted. Maybe next week I'll feel like working on it.
Tonight is the booksigning at The King's English, followed by readings by John Vernon and Richard Frost. Then my friend and I are going out to dinner with the agent. More tomorrow.

Dispatch from the Writing Conference

No great crises to report. All the writers are lovely. I'm especially taken with Michael Downing, Crystal Williams, and Kevin McIlvoy. All are generous, funny, delightful to be around.
Kevin McIlvoy gave a fantastic reading last night, reading two stories, "Ice" and "Smoke," from his collection The Complete History of New Mexico. He's a great reader and the stories have great voices, distinct and individual. I think "Ice" is as close to a perfect story as I've heard. It has everything I like: voice, idea, some plot, and, most important to me recently, heart. Mac is a writer that exemplifies the principle of heart. He is giving as a writer and as person.
Last night we all went to The Pub for a few pints and some chit chat. We talked about writing, of course, but also the state of the world, gay mormons, the documentary "The Smiths," life in Salt Lake City, the lack of affordable day care for working mothers. You know, the basics.
Tonight is Brenda Miller's reading. I'm introducing her, so I'd better get to writing that darn thing. I bought a sexy new shirt/sweater combo that I'm debuting tonight at a fancy soiree that was supposed to be a "out-by-the-pool" party. It may be an indoor party now. Oh well. I'm just hoping for one perfect martini that's so dirty, it's pornographic.
I'll report tomorrow on my consultation with Carol Houck Smith, an editor from Norton. I gave her one of my stories entitled "When I Say Idaho." I already know she doesn't love it (she hinted), but I'm hoping she'll have some good suggestions for how I can improve it.
Oh: David Hamilton from the Iowa Review is also very sweet and nice. So all you poets, send him your work!

Writers at "Work"

I took this week off from productivity because of the preparations we were making for the up-coming writers' conference Writers at Work (shamless promotion: writersatwork). Last week we (some others and me, sometimes others and not me) were dropping off and proofing and worrying about the program (done now!), making dinner reservations (very important!), compiling and sending off manuscripts for consultations, making bookmarks (better late than never!), and troubleshooting. Also making sure that all the Famous Writers have someone to pick them up at the airport. Very important. And making sure that we have enough wine and snacks for all the much-anticipated hob-nobbing.
So, I feel pretty good about having taken the week off. Middlebrow took the week off too, in sympathy for me, no doubt. But he did run a few times (at least he said he ran, and he came home dripping sweat, so I guess I have to believe him). In an attempt to make him more hip, I bought him a funky shirt for Father's Day. I'm encouraging him to wear it to the up-coming Summer Celebration. Please complement him on the shirt if you see him. It's part of his bold new strategy of "breaking out" of the boring wardrobe. I'm trying to encourage him.
So: I probably won't be posting next week, but if I get a break from the conference, I will. On deck for the week are: a potluck with board and faculty; the usual wine and snacks after each reading; a mid-week hike with faculty; introducing some writers; a swanky cocktail party; a booksigning party at The King's English (at 5 p.m. on Thursday the 23rd, 1511 East 15th South); dinner with an agent (not as exciting as it sounds, it's not like he's paying!); then the big final party (Saturday the 25th after the reading; lots of good food! and dancing!).
Here are the readings. I hope to see the locals there. It will be fun. And I promise some quality hob-nobbing! The readings begin at 7 pm and are in the Courage Theater in Jewett Center at Westminster College (13th East and 17th South).

• Tuesday the 21st: Carol Frost (poet) & Kevin McIlvoy (fiction writer)
• Wednesday the 22nd: Brenda Miller (U grad, non-fiction writer)
• Thursday the 23rd: John Vernon (fiction) & Richard Frost (poet)
• Friday the 24th: Crystal Williams (poet) & David Hamilton (essayist?)
• Saturday the 25th: Pam Houston (novelist) & Michael Downing (fiction and non)

spy NOVEL vs. SPY novel

Okay, some of you know what I'm talking about. There are novels which involve spies and intrigue, and then there are spy plots that hucksters somehow turn into novels that spend months on the best seller lists, confounding even the most cynical writer among us.
I just finished reading Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, which, in my book, is a spy NOVEL. That is, the writing and character development are not sacrificed to the plot. It has a great plot, and it also has a lot of moody rumination and some scenes where not a lot happens. My favorite thing is that most of the "action" takes place in the past, so it only happens in a monologue, where one spy is relating the story to another. It's a brilliant technique.
Middlebrow suggested T,T,S,S (that sounds kind of dirty!) because in my so-called-novel the protagonist is looking into something that happened in the past and my big "structural" difficulty is how to move smoothly between the narrative present and the past.Structure seems to be my big problem, or at least my excuse for writer's block. I was talking to a friend back east (he recorded some of my stuff for a "radio literary journal" he's doing for a college radio station; more on that later) and he asked me to talk about structure because of the two prose pieces I had written using poetic forms (the crown of sonnets essay and the sestina story). And I said that using poetic forms as the structure freed up my mind to just invent. Which made me think that maybe what I need to do is find some kind of arbitrary (or not so arbitrary) form for the novel and just use it. But it can't be crazy, like terza rima, and it has to be large enough to encapsulate an entire novel. Help! What can my received novel form be? I need one! I think it would help me to at least get my (shitty) first draft done.

Gluttony vs. Self-Control

First, let me admit that as a faster I am somewhat of a failure.
Day One I had some soup (most of the ingredients in the soup were on the list of approved vegetables, but still. I also had some decidely unhealthy crackers).
Day Two Middlebrow, after doing some back-breaking work in the garden, proclaimed, "Let's go to the Pub!" followed quickly by "Am I a bad person?" So I ate some soup, then we went to the pub where I consumed 1 pint of UPA and a roasted veggie salad (sans cheese).
Day Three my fellow fasting friend called me (from the Pub) and said, "Come on down!" There I was treated to a few glasses of UPA by two retired (or semi-retired?) mathematicians. I ate some chips and salsa and watched The Race. We had a good discussion about whether the TV series "Numbers" realistically portrayed math in a way that did not mis-represent math theory etc. The math dudes said the show was good. Hooray! Math can be sexy!
Day Four (today) I kept up my juice breakfast and veggie lunch (today, chard! delish!) and then indulged in veggies, bread, humus, brownies! and wine! during book club. We even actually discussed the books, which got mostly positive reviews: Eyeshot by Heather McHugh and Loving Che by Ana Menendez.
Last night I chided Middlebrow for what I took to be a gluttonous response to my Puritanical fast. In order to prove to me that he is not, in fact, "Fat" (his word) he took off his shirt. At the time, I believe we were between episodes of "The Sopranos." Now, of course Middlebrow is not fat. But does that give him the right to eat enough for two during my fast? Anyway, I agreed that he is not, in fact, "fat" and in order to prove his fitness, he began to jump up and down, promptly hitting his head on our basement ceiling and falling to the floor in a fit of laughter.
The upshot is, however, that today Middlebrow went out and bought some running shoes and, upon returning home, went out for a quick run. Then he went to Fiddler's Elbow for four hours, so I'm not quite sure that Self-Control won this round. Let's call it a draw.

The (late) Spring Fast

I know it is a good idea to fast. I usually try to do it once a year. But I always get a splitting headache on the first day. But now, well into Day 2, I feel good. Not great, but good. I realized last night that the reason I get a splitting headache is all the sugar in the fruit juice, without any other food to mitigate its terrible consequences. So today I'm going with the veggie only/lemon juice and water fast. I think I'll be okay.
I also always forget how exhausted I get, how all I want to do is lay in bed, so I slept nine hours (or so) last night. We all did. After Son got up and had a bowl of cereal he came into our bed and slept for another two hours.
So the fast is an attempt for greater health, and I have caught up on my sleep. Also, when I don't have to eat or make dinner, I have more time to go for walks. I'm hoping to go on at least two one-hour walks today.
I've heard (I forget where) that one should: fast for twelve hours a day everyday (from 8 pm until 8 am for example), fast for one day of every week, and fast for one week once a year (I think some people do it twice a year: in the fall you can do a fast that includes rice and miso soup; in the spring a juice and vegetable only fast).
For me, the fast is a good time to reset my thinking about eating (for example, why do I snack so much at night?) and to give my stomach a rest. I get stomach aches more than the average person, so it's a good thing.
It also reminds me of the "news fast" that Dr. Weil recommends, to clear your mind from clutter. I do a "news fast" sometimes. I used to do them once a week: one day without news isn't going to kill me. And it clears your mind from worry about things you can't (immediately) do anything about.
Dr. Weil also recommends bringing cut flowers into your house. Which I have done, roses from the rose bush out front. Very bright and beautiful.
I'm going to drink some Carrot, Orange, Apple Juice now (but just a bit! not too much!). Then I'm going to go for a walk.
Happy Fasting (or eating)!

Little Children

I just finished a fairly light and entertaining read, Little Children by Tom Perrotta. It started out very funny, with highly insightful and biting stereotypes of the women at the playground (we know who we are!). It's mostly about an affair between a stay-at-home mom and a stay-at-home dad, but it hits on other big issues, like the nature of success. I started out wishing I had written it, then realized that it seemed like it could have been written by a friend of mine from graduate school (WWU). It wasn't as funny (overall) as the first chapter promised, but it was good. Pretty light, but a good, quick read. Perfect for those days beside the pool with the kids. Actually, many of the scenes in the book take place at "Town Pool" complete with red bikinis, tanning lotion, and flippers.
I feel like I don't have the right to criticize novels anymore, at least not until I have finished one. It's a miracle anyone ever does, as far as I can tell. But my mind has been cleared. Maybe now I can read some hefty piece of "real" fiction. Maybe I'll alternate (one light, one hefty) for the remainder of the summer.

Tanning Soundtrack vs. Teenage Angst

Don't get me wrong. I'm 100% in favor of Tears for Fears AND Duran Duran (though "View to a Kill" is not their best). The difference is: you listen to metal while you are lying out, thinking of nothing but your gorgeous tan and/or skin cancer, or while you sit next to the pool, trying to be cool. Tears for Fears, Violent Femmes, Duran Duran, B-52s: these you listen to while you drive around in your car with your same sex friends while you lament the lack of attention from the opposite sex and/or how much your hometown sucks and how your life is going to be amazing and fantastic as soon as you move out of this terrible town. Sometimes you stop and get a Big Gulp or a Frosty. Sometimes you cruise, but you aren't trying to pick anyone up. You are, for once, enjoying your angst, reveling in it, finding in it an expression of the basic human condition. The only music for this: Scritti Politti, Tears for Fears, Violent Femmes. Even Prince, sometimes. My point is: they are not mutually exclusive. I need many soundtracks, including "Summer Metal" and "Summer Angst."

Bikini Music

June! Wonderful June! I was driving around yesterday singing along to a Sammy Hagar tune that I don't know why I know the words to (it was "Why Can't This Be Love?"). It reminded me of all the hot hot Idaho summers spent lying out in bikinis in the back yard, on the back porch, at the reservoir (no lakes in Idaho. at least not where I was) or at the Olympic size pool in Lava. I didn't have a bikini body then and I certainly don't now. But there is something about summer that seems to make bikinis okay. It is this same principle that makes me nostalgic for the kind of rock music that Sammy Hagar made. You know what I'm talking about: Van Halen, my favorite Def Leppard, Aerosmith (is it a sin to lump them in with the others?), AC/DC, Guns 'N' Roses, others? I need a compilation CD: Summer Metal or something. Summer of Metal? Metal Summer? Okay, 'fess up. Who is your favorite? (slather on the baby oil and squeeze some lemon in your hair: it's time to tan) (does this remind you of that episode of "Sex in the City"? It was "Hot Child in the City").