9/18/2009
Waiting to go down to our trainer's torture chamber, I mean, workout studio. It has been a busy week--what with the trip to CA and the sweet prayer breakfast with the Latino community at De Paul University. I had a good time in Los Altos--there were, probably, 400 people in the church where I spoke. It was a warm event, full of good cheer. But it was all hurry-hurry because I'm trying to attend to my UIC students, but I still mess things up and ended up missing one class though we tried to have it all planned out. So I flew to CA and got up early and spoke and flew home. ZOOM! I think my new stage name will be "The Blur."
Living on sandwiches. That's one part of the lit-biz I don't love. Though the perpetual return to O'Hare at midnight is eerie and might be kind of interesting...or depressing. I can't ever tell. It's all echoing and vast, and these cheerful female robot voices speak in the empty halls. It's like a dystopian 70s SF movie. Myself and my fellow zombies shuffle around under neon tubes.
Not being able to tell what is what. That seems to be the prevailing malady for me. You get to the place where, for example, people are talking to you, about you, and you don't know what to think. Who am I, again? For example, a generally supportive onlin jurnal posted a fairly positive review of my latest novel, but not crazy about it. It was OK, but certainly not the lofty Hummingbird's Daughter. That's fair. But then a writer from that same journal tells me the new book is brilliant and remarkable, and they need to feature it. Um. But how'd it get so brilliant in the last two months? And will this review replace the previous review?
As Dave Egger said, What is the what?
I was told, by two different folks, in the same day, that I was very humble. And that I was no longer humble. D'oh! When I'm more awake, things like that make me laugh.
So, you know--keep focused. Do your work. Be honest. What else can you do?
Me, I'm a dad and a husband and I have two dogs, two cats and a rat and a parrot. I like good peaches. I like sunflowers. I put seeds in my feeder. Don't like to work out.
It would not be humble to say I am humble.
Ha hahahaha.
Time for the sit-ups.
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Living on sandwiches. That's one part of the lit-biz I don't love. Though the perpetual return to O'Hare at midnight is eerie and might be kind of interesting...or depressing. I can't ever tell. It's all echoing and vast, and these cheerful female robot voices speak in the empty halls. It's like a dystopian 70s SF movie. Myself and my fellow zombies shuffle around under neon tubes.
Not being able to tell what is what. That seems to be the prevailing malady for me. You get to the place where, for example, people are talking to you, about you, and you don't know what to think. Who am I, again? For example, a generally supportive onlin jurnal posted a fairly positive review of my latest novel, but not crazy about it. It was OK, but certainly not the lofty Hummingbird's Daughter. That's fair. But then a writer from that same journal tells me the new book is brilliant and remarkable, and they need to feature it. Um. But how'd it get so brilliant in the last two months? And will this review replace the previous review?
As Dave Egger said, What is the what?
I was told, by two different folks, in the same day, that I was very humble. And that I was no longer humble. D'oh! When I'm more awake, things like that make me laugh.
So, you know--keep focused. Do your work. Be honest. What else can you do?
Me, I'm a dad and a husband and I have two dogs, two cats and a rat and a parrot. I like good peaches. I like sunflowers. I put seeds in my feeder. Don't like to work out.
It would not be humble to say I am humble.
Ha hahahaha.
Time for the sit-ups.
# posted by Luis @ 9:23 AM 
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