Working

Surreal, the writing life. So solitary, except when it isn't. I've had a couple stories I'm really proud of come out in the last couple weeks. Maybe someone is reading them, or will. I got up and got to hammering away, as always, on a book I will finish this month that people will get to read, if they want to, a year from now, when I'm immersed in something else. I have teaching to do, movies to see, students to help, that Hookworms disc I've been grooving to all week to groove to some more. And tonight, at the University of Ottawa, professor/poet/polymath Sean Moreland will be teaching Motherless Child to his horror lit students I will never meet, can barely even imagine. In my office in the not-yet-90-degree heat, getting ready to grade, I'm imagining them in snow.