Speaking of novel, I started writing one. But how long does it have to be to consider it a novel you've begun? It's the first time I've felt excited about an idea in a really really long time. That alone has been worth it. I'm hoping to ride the momentum until I'm so far in I can't find my way out except to finish it. But these days I'm so exhausted with the publishing and writing world. My writing group is great; it's small and on a scale I can understand and handle. But the idea of going to writing conferences, wrangling an agent, and schmoozing with literary giants makes me squeamish. What happened to the days of publishing under a pseudonym in some local paper and being appreciated after your time? I think that's more my style.
I recently read Andre Dubus III's memoir, Townie. It was amazing, and what has resparked my desire to read everything and write. It was so beautifully written and shed light on a lot of issues that I never was very exposed to but am fascinated by. I've been reading his father's stories, Andre Dubus. In the Bedroom (which I'd seen the movie that's based on one of the stories--Killings, SO GREAT) I'm reading now. And hoping to read House of Sand & Fog (by Andre Dubus III) next. Either way, I'm just glad to be reading again. And just in time for summer-ish weather! It's been cold again this week, but last Saturday's warmth and sandal-wearing and park-napping are still fresh in my memory. I love love Boston in the summer. I always forget and then every AprilMayJuneJuly it all comes flooding back just in time for Fall.
PS--I bought tickets to go to DC in May, and I couldn't be happier. The next month (half-month!) will be chock full of anticipation for meandering walks, late nights, too much giggling, and bathroom floors. And ice cream. There will be so much ice cream.