Overnight Winter

One day it's 50 degrees, two days later the high is cut in half.

The semester has been adventurous & I am really surprised that it is at the point where most of what I am doing is grading essays (both the late and on time) and setting up times for presentations in the final week (next week!).

I had unofficial swine flu, which killed my bones for about a week, refrigerated my skin like bottle of white wine (sweats and all), and basically stressed me out since my body was invalid but my brain wanted to work.

I went to my first ever games at Michigan Stadium, and though the Blue lost to both PSU and Ohio State, I really enjoyed the weeeeekends in Ann Arbor with our friends Anand and Amaris.

Lynn and I dealt with the passing of someone special to both of us the week of Thanksgiving. Her grandfather was so influential to her, and he was such an endearing figure that cared about people. He was a WWII vet and just a man to aspire to.

I am stoked to have poems coming out in New Madrid's winter issue and Sou'wester's spring issue. I am happy that the poems that were taken were recognized, especially one that has been around since graduate school.

Also, last weekend I had encouraging manuscript news. I've entered into a fair amount of contests and open submission periods, and I am looking forward to entering a few more. I was going to enter the Crazyhorse/Tupelo First Book competition, but am miffed that it is still called such, the guidelines now allowing second books to be considered. I don't mind the extra competition, but I find that to be a gaping misnomer. I hope writers read their guidelines carefully. I know some writers who only enter the first book contests, fearing their collections won't have as good a chance.

For me, a book is a book and whether it is one's first or not, what makes it any less stronger because it happens to be one's "first." My own "first" book has grown from a toddler to a strapping young book of adult age! At least, it perceives itself as such (it told me), and has gotten enough head nods that it feels confident (for the first time ever) in saying such.

I had a dream two nights ago that my book was published, and published by some dream-induced fictitious press that made an aqua/teal cover with some chauncy copy and pasted boxy image with the title sitting on the box all laissez-faire. In this dream I was running away from my own book as someone tried to run after me and make me aware that this was my book. They were reading poems from it though I couldn't hear. Ah! I was being chased by a literati Jason, and the only way to get away was to do a Nightmare on Elm Street...and wake up! Talk about your mixed metaphor.