When I am writing, I can't sleep. It is rather difficult write in one's sleep, but what I mean is that I am unable to sleep because I write. I am always writing. . . in my head, you know? Anyway; ; ;
I spent much of the night pounding on a typewriter and reading poetry with Sara Mumolo. I have been trying to find a typewriter of my own, but it is proving very difficult. Why? Because I am nearly broke. Poetry prize money comes too seldom and disappears too quickly. Sara has a nice typewriter. We took it to White Horse but wouldn't pay the five-dollar cover they wanted. So we met a friend named Vincent and dragged him with us for poetic stuff.
It was a long night.
Got home late. Didn't sleep until around three, which isn't a big deal, but I woke up at six.
Waking up at six in the morning with poetry and the previous night's booze in your head is a horrible feeling. I decided to cure it with coffee and doughnuts and Bronwen Tate.
Bronwen Tate has a very cool name and a nice blog and a nice book called Souvenirs. I read it as the sun clamored over the park and dogs chased various flying objects. The book is nice and friendly and sweet. I would recommend it to anyone who likes nice, sweet, or friendly things. I enjoyed it very much this morning. It was just what I needed. I believe in the idea that there is a right book for a right time. Souvenirs was just right.
Bronwen has a good blog. She's just moved to California. Her blog links to samples of her work.