Overheard at the blueberry orchard yesterday, from a kid who couldn't have been more than 10: "These are turning into the best days of my life. AND we have cake at home!"
I got a kind, detailed rejection the other day from a journal that I'd really like to be in. They called my poems interesting and beautiful, and said that they wished they could read the work in a complete book. So it is sad that they didn't take the pieces after all, but this is encouraging, right? If only they were a book publisher. Well, oh. Well. I am still working on that manuscript anyway, having gotten some really thought-provoking feedback. And I've finally finished Autobiography of Red, so now it's on to Brandon Shimoda's The Girl Without Arms and getting started on Consider the Lobster. I'm not really expecting to find a model in David Foster Wallace, but Carson and Shimoda will be helpful, I think, in questioning the setup of my manuscript, and the issues of story and plot and form, all jumbled together, my little hodge-podge of characters melting in and out of each other.