Time to lighten the somber tone of these entries…
This morning it’s my 11th anniversary with my pretty cool husband who is downstairs making crepes for breakfast. To mark the occasion, I also received a happy missive from Rebecca Livingston re: her No Tell Motel Bedside Anthology, which has accepted what I believe to be one of the only love/sex-oriented poems I have ever written, titled “After Ten Years Together, We Sneak Off to Make Out in Someone’s Closet.” It’s not that I’m not a romantic, but my poetry tends to be oriented around other, weirder subject matter. To celebrate both poem acceptance and anniversary, we are going to a restaurant tonight where the dessert chef creates desserts that look like things (old-fashioned ho-hos that are filled with mocha creme fraiche, or a banana split with cookie legs sticking out) and then maybe dance around listening to our old CDs.
The Port Townsend Writer’s Conference is now around the corner, so I can’t put it off any longer – I’m going to have to start to pack, plus pick out some poems to bring copies of. I’m very excited (but nervous) to be in the critiqued workshop with Kim Addonizio, but the conference’s array of stars doesn’t end there – Alberto Rios, the wonderful Peter Pereira, the stellar fiction writer Debra Magpie Earling, and Ilya Kaminsky.