Tour, Day...Wait, what day is it?
Posted by Marya at 4/7/2008 4:41 AM and is filed under uncategorized 
Day 3? Day 47? Day 17? I'm losing track of time. I think it's Monday. If so, that means I'm heading for Washington, D.C. this evening after an interview with Time.com (will post its date when I know). I think I'm supposed to leave from Penn Station. I think I'm supposed to arrive at Union Station. I think it's supposed to happen today, and I am pretty sure it's Monday. That means tomorrow is Tuesday (I think), and I'll be on NPR's "Diane Rehm Show" at 11:00 a.m. Eastern Time. And THAT means the following day is Wednesday the 9th--lordy lordy, pub date. I'm hoping the cold that moved into my nose last night sometime between the beginning of dinner and the end will be gone by then so I'm not snuffling and snorting while I try to give a reading. So tacky. It won't go with my shoes.
So this is the new travel blog. When I'm not touring, ok, my travel schedule is not terrifically worldly--mostly this summer you'll hear from me when I'm up in Detroit Lakes, Minnesota, one of my favorite places on the planet, mentioned in previous blogs as the home of the Main Street Cafe, where the waitress doesn't speak to me but I am almost certain she likes me, or at least is used to me, since I've been hitting the Main Street since I was about zero. Last time I saw her, she'd streaked her hair. I'll keep you posted. I'm dreaming of DL right now, though through the window it's still a dark New York pre-dawn. Sitting in a chair on the porch by the lake sounds awfully nice. This summer I'll be working on the new novel while sitting in that chair, and I'm dying to get back to it. Of course, once I'm writing it, I will doubtless go through much hair-tearing and teeth-gnashing, but so it goes. Writing just sort of is that way. Maybe there are writers who don't tear or gnash, but I don't know any, and I know a fair number of writers. As Byron said, "We of the craft are all crazy." I mentioned that the other day in my talk on madness and creativity at Yale. It seems like a much more accurate way of putting it than the usual nonsense about mad geniuses or romantically tortured artists. Far, far more accurate than Plato quoting Socrates in the Ion, who said that "poets are nothing but the gods’ speakers, each one possessed by the divinity who possesses him. And to prove this, the deity on purpose sang the loveliest of all lyrics through the most miserable poet.” Ha! Very funny. I'm fairly sure miserable poets write no better poetry than cheerful ones. They're just more miserable. I'm with Byron. We of the craft are all crazy. But some of us aren't in the least miserable.
Someone mentioned in a post the other day something about me publishing a book of poetry--my friends, don't hold your breath(s). I have the weirdest relationship with poetry. I go through spells of writing it, the get mad at it and abandon it for years at a time. I can never decide if I think poetry or short story is the hardest form in which to write. Those who do either one consistently amaze me. Perhaps I am not miserable enough. I'll stick with novels. Which of course are terrifically easy. Hmm.
New York is waking up, I'm snorting and snuffling, and it's time for work. Good morning to all who are tuning in today, and have a great one.
Peace,
M
So this is the new travel blog. When I'm not touring, ok, my travel schedule is not terrifically worldly--mostly this summer you'll hear from me when I'm up in Detroit Lakes, Minnesota, one of my favorite places on the planet, mentioned in previous blogs as the home of the Main Street Cafe, where the waitress doesn't speak to me but I am almost certain she likes me, or at least is used to me, since I've been hitting the Main Street since I was about zero. Last time I saw her, she'd streaked her hair. I'll keep you posted. I'm dreaming of DL right now, though through the window it's still a dark New York pre-dawn. Sitting in a chair on the porch by the lake sounds awfully nice. This summer I'll be working on the new novel while sitting in that chair, and I'm dying to get back to it. Of course, once I'm writing it, I will doubtless go through much hair-tearing and teeth-gnashing, but so it goes. Writing just sort of is that way. Maybe there are writers who don't tear or gnash, but I don't know any, and I know a fair number of writers. As Byron said, "We of the craft are all crazy." I mentioned that the other day in my talk on madness and creativity at Yale. It seems like a much more accurate way of putting it than the usual nonsense about mad geniuses or romantically tortured artists. Far, far more accurate than Plato quoting Socrates in the Ion, who said that "poets are nothing but the gods’ speakers, each one possessed by the divinity who possesses him. And to prove this, the deity on purpose sang the loveliest of all lyrics through the most miserable poet.” Ha! Very funny. I'm fairly sure miserable poets write no better poetry than cheerful ones. They're just more miserable. I'm with Byron. We of the craft are all crazy. But some of us aren't in the least miserable.
Someone mentioned in a post the other day something about me publishing a book of poetry--my friends, don't hold your breath(s). I have the weirdest relationship with poetry. I go through spells of writing it, the get mad at it and abandon it for years at a time. I can never decide if I think poetry or short story is the hardest form in which to write. Those who do either one consistently amaze me. Perhaps I am not miserable enough. I'll stick with novels. Which of course are terrifically easy. Hmm.
New York is waking up, I'm snorting and snuffling, and it's time for work. Good morning to all who are tuning in today, and have a great one.
Peace,
M
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