THE END

Magic words. It's supposed to feel good writing them on your novel. I was anticipating the end of my novel Alma so much that I even wrote THE END on a post-it and tacked it up over my desk, to remind me of my goal. Just make it to the end, that's all. It doesn't have to be good, you just have to make it to the end. This has been my mantra. Just finish already. I'm even visualizing it, like those dang The Secret people suggest.

So then I got to the end of the novel over the weekend, and I couldn't bring myself to write the words. It didn't feel like my silly visualization. I had been seeing myself as Jane Fonda playing Lillian Hellman in that movie Julia. Did you ever see that? She gets to the end of her play and types THE END THE END THE END THE END and smiles and leans back in her chair.

I should have felt elated, but instead I'm left with melancholy. Maybe because that's the tone this novel ends on, melancholy. The characters don't fix all their problems. They even get new ones. It's a sad feeling. Maybe the right one.

Not sure.

Time to read and reread now. But I might stick it in the drawer for awhile first.

Please let me know if you're interested in reading a draft. Last time I printed and bound a bunch of copies and passed them out. The feedback I got was invaluable (thanks guys!). I'm particularly interested in your reaction if you have intimate knowledge of any of the following subcultures:

1. actors and urban acting studios
2. 12-step programs
3. clergy families
4. people adopted in the 1960's
5. interracial families, particularly children of color with white parents
6. public hospitals and emergency medicine
7. NYC stagehands and dressers for professional stage
8. the oevre of Tennessee Williams

No pressure. And one need not know any of this crap. To me, the most helpful feedback is, "during this part of the book, I was feeling _____." Seriously.

OK, back to work now.

I'll Hit the Mic, KGB, May 15, Come on Down!

KGB Bar 5/15/08 7PM
85 E 4th St., NYC
FREE

AAA-mazing Writers!
Anne Elliott
Angela Himsel
Alyson Palmer
And your guest host, A. Rich Merritt

Anne Elliott is a writer, ukulelist, and feral cat caretaker living in Brooklyn. Her fiction can be seen in Hobart, Pindeldyboz, Smokelong Quarterly, FRiGG, and others. She blogs on felines and fiction at http://assbackwords.blogspot.com

Angela Himsel has been obsessed with God for a long while, and she'd like to think that God is equally obsessed with her -- and with the rest of us. In her novel, God on the Couch, God takes to the couch in an attempt to understand the Creator/creation relationship. Angela's writing has appeared in the New York Times, the Jewish Week, the Forward, Lilith, online at beliefnet.com and elsewhere.

Best known as the tallest third of the pop rock band, BETTY, Alyson Palmer also writes. BETTY has performed in venues all over the world since 1986 and is known to television audiences through their recognizable theme songs for Showtime’s "The L Word," HBO's "Encyclopedia", "Cover Shot" on TLC, Comedy Central's "Out On The Edge" and Discovery TV's "Ms. Adventure". Alyson has appeared on "The L Word" and "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.". She writes and performs original songs with long-time-love Tony Salvatore in Tony & Alyson and Tot Rock in the raucous Tone Alley. She blogs at www.mamarox.com

Drunken! Careening! Writers! is a reading series dedicated to the proposition that readings should be: excellent, well-read pieces that have at least one thing in them that makes people laugh (nervous laughter counts), and don't run more than 15 minutes each. For more information, or to be added to the mailing list, email CareeningWriters@aol.com.

Guest Blogger Angus Barr on Stockholm Syndrome, Missing Cojones, and a Cat's Right to Be Chosen For

Hi, you may know me, I'm Angus Barr, brother of the famous Vince. I live with Anne and everyone else inside the house, which wasn't always the case for me. I used to be a shy feral cat, a few years ago, sleeping under the hosta in the front yard. But then I got a really bad abscess on my belly, and it slowed me down. Next thing you know, they're taking me away in the car, I'm put into a mysterious sleep, and when I wake up, I've lost my balls, have a plastic drain in my belly, and I live indoors. The crazy thing is, I like it, even after my belly healed. There's nothing like a warm lap. Plus, sometimes I get to surf the web with Anne. She moves the cursor around for me to chase.

As you know, two new homeless cats showed up on the back porch recently. My human benefactors took it upon themselves to cage them for a week, and take them away for a day to a mobile clinic. When they came back they were missing the top of their left ears. Oh, and all their sexual glands.

This one, Juno, developed Stockholm Syndrome somewhere along the way. I hear she was actually purring in her cage. This might have been because she was fixing to have kittens in there. It's sad, the choice Anne made for her, but Anne tells me there were over 20 homeless cats at the mobile clinic, all beautiful, some kittens, and the world does not need more kittens. I happen to agree with that. We have three cats living in this house and sometimes that is too much for me. Not to mention the tribe outside.

So, in the world of feline abortion, Juno does not have the right to choose. Humans choose for her. It's tough being a cat. But she seems cool with it, if a little hormonally confused. Now she won't starve, trying to feed little ones.

She didn't want to come out of her cage. Safe, private, with a maid to come and clean it every day, twice a day food--she wants back in! Sorry, Juno. This hotel room won't last. I hope you cleaned out the minibar.

And this guy, I couldn't believe all the yelling! Enough already! Pablo, they call him, but they should have called him Pavarotti. They were planning to put him outside the evening of his trip to the clinic, but turns out he was already missing one of his balls. The doctor had to look around inside his abdomen for it. So he had a little more recovery time than expected.

My benefactors let them out in the basement because the traps had to go back to Neighborhood Cats. So they had their last day of recovery living like normal indoor cats. They were friendly enough to handle it, probably not quite feral to begin with. I didn't get to hang out with them--can you believe they kept us separate? Something about spreading disease, or whatever, one of those things people care so much about.

But even Juno ventured away from her cage, disguising herself as a guitar pedal. She got to like the basement a little too much, if you ask me. When they moved her out into the yard, she just sat on the back porch meowing. So that's it? You're done with me now? I thought you loved me!

Yeah, we have a pretty good thing happening in here. I get to sleep in a bed, and play with my sister, and cuddle with the dog. There just isn't enough room for everyone.

Young Lions, Younger Lions, and other Rites of Spring

Doesn't Vince make a nice stoop lion? As regal as the dudes in front of the NY Public Library, where I had the good fortune this week to be present to watch my net-friend Ron Currie win this year's Young Lions Fiction Award. I could not have been happier to hear his name called. If you haven't read GOD IS DEAD, check it out, it's one of the most original works I've ever seen, in any year, and captures well the human need for God, which according to some theology, might actually be God. A lot to talk about at your book club. Congrats Ron!

It's been an eventful week. As you know, our feral cat colony has two newcomers. As of today, they have both been captured (yay!) and are in the chilling out phase in our basement. Here they are in their traps. They will live in them for a week: two days before surgery, and two days after surgery.

Here's Pablo. (They do have eyes, they just close them when the flash goes off.) He has proven to be talkative and might be friendly enough to adopt, as soon as his pee stops smelling like tomcat. Anyone interested? He has a very expressive vocal range. My husband has been recording him.

Here's Juno. She is quiet, ravenous, and appears to be pregnant. I doubt she will become adoptable but you never know. Let me know if she appeals to you. She could do well in a quiet home.

And finally, I just need to celebrate: this year I managed to walk through Brooklyn Botanic Garden on the optimal weekend. Last weekend in April, for future reference, that seems to be the one. Lilacs, tulips, magnolia, and of course, cherry blossom. Enjoy!

A House in Need of Mirth

The Mount, Edith Wharton's landmark home in the Berkshires, is at dire risk of foreclosure. They are accepting online pledges now and need to raise $3 million before May 31 to keep this historic monument open to the public. I feel it is important not to lose this piece of our cultural history to our crappy current economy. (Though that would have the feeling of a Wharton novel, wouldn't it?) Join me in chipping in! If they do not make the goal, they will not call in pledges.

Just Desserts

Rumor has it that at the Bake Sale benefit for Sangham House writers' residencies, Rick Moody is going to throw a pie at Dale Peck.

It's about time! Rick Moody inspires me. He made me want to be a writer. Take that, you Pecker!

And well done to both of them for being good sports.

The Complexity of the Simplicity

Even after 10 years of marriage, I'm still a big fan of my trophy hubby, as it should be! He has just uploaded his remix of Radiohead's "Nude" for the online remix project. Have you seen it? It's a cool idea of collaborative art. Average citizens can buy/download the individual tracks and then reinterpret them. Another way that Radiohead is revolutionizing the music industry.

If you like my fella's version, you can vote for it. (It's fun to listen to other versions too.)

Brooklyn in Bloom

I walked through the Brooklyn Botanic Garden's cherry esplanade this afternoon. So on the verge! Tight, dark buds everywhere. They should be bright pink and fluffy by next weekend. The tulips are in bloom; the magnolia just finishing up. I love April. I love Claritin, too.

Our yard is blooming too, in more ways than one. Here, Wilbur sniffs the flowers he has worked so hard to keep fertilized through the winter.




Unfortunately, our formerly-stable feral cat colony has a couple newcomers. Here is one we call Pablo. He sleeps with a hatchet because he has to. The others have been trying to drive him off. He isn't smart around cars, and I fear he is not long for this world. He's starting to warm up to us humans, so hopefully we will be able to help his pee become way less smelly, with a trip to the mobile spay/neuter clinic.




Along with Pablo came Juno, who is camera shy. We know she is female, and fear she is with child. She hasn't had any suitors around, so chances are she is either pregnant or already spayed. Hard to tell--she keeps her distance. She does eat like a horse. If I ever get a photo I will post it, but the priority is to take care of her health first.

Meanwhile, the regulars continue to beg, sniff catnip, and entertain. Here, Rrose hangs out in the garage rafters.




Her brother Marcel hangs on top of the garage door. Both siblings survived the winter well and are chubby and happy. (I believe they have another benefactor on the block.)


And Vince gets philosophical near the flat mouse he has contributed to the yard's decor. (I opted not to post the closeup shot.)


While we're looking at cute animals, here is former porch-rat Ava chilling in front of the TV with Wilbur. Do they love John Adams as much as they appear to? Does it inspire them to be patriotic? Does Ava, like me, have a TV crush on Thomas Jefferson?

Late Bloomer Alert

I refuse to call myself a late bloomer because

(a) I'm not that old.
(b) I haven't exactly bloomed yet.

So, maybe I aspire to be a late bloomer. Here's some advice and inspiration from Writer's Digest: "Publish Your First Book After 50." (I did not know that about Laura Ingalls Wilder. I gobbled up the Little House books! She taught me how to write about food, that's for sure.)

One thing strikes me most about the advice in this article: you have to be patient with yourself. Just because you're older doesn't mean you can learn to write faster. Everybody ends up with novels in the drawer.

Wearing Out My Headphones

If you have a mind-numbing job like mine, looking at code and numbers all day, the right soundtrack can save your sanity. I'm still loyal to the podcasts on my sidebar, but here are a few new (to me) things I'm digging a whole lot:

Slate's Audio Book Club. It's like eavesdropping on a discussion in the professors' lounge. I loved the way they managed to contrast the treatment of social class in Joan Didion vs. Edith Wharton, both writers with access to the jetset lifestyle of their day. In Didion's THE YEAR OF MAGICAL THINKING, the events of the story assert how irrelevant one's social standing becomes when the big transitions of life go down. But in Wharton's THE HOUSE OF MIRTH, the demands of class are the arbiters of fate, and the characters (and narrator) are aware of the pitfalls of the game, even as they play it, with tragic consequenses. We should all have a book club as smart and passionate as Stephen Metcalf, Meghan O'Rourke, and Katie Roiphe, who don't just sit around and agree on everything. Sparks fly.

The New Yorker Fiction Podcast. Fiction editor Deborah Treisman talks with current New Yorker authors about short stories from the archive. What I love about this is the same thing I love about Slate--I get to hear thoughtful readers talk about the experience of reading. They pick apart the choices made by the author, with the eyes of a fellows writer and/or editors. And the most important part: the writer isn't present. It's a refreshing change from the author interviews I listen to frequently, reminds me what this literature thing is all about: scattering seeds out there in the world to take on lives of their own in other people's brains. I enjoyed hearing Antonya Nelson read Mavis Gallant's short story "When We Were Nearly Young," set in Madrid, then talk about what attracts her to Gallant's work, primarily the nonresolution of endings.

Conjunctions Audio Vault. It's not a podcast, but it's a great RealAudio archive. Groove with me on John Barth's "I've Been Told: A Story's Story," narrated from a story's POV. (An "old fart" story, at that.) Breakneck delivery, full of musical vocal nuance, worth a repeat listen or two.

I Love My Blogroll

While I am focusing all my inadequate creative energy on my fiction, let's look at what some of my fave bloggers are up to.

At Xujun Eberlein's Inside Out China, there's an inspiring discussion of Pamela Erens' first novel, THE UNDERSTORY. I'm just crazy about this novel. I just finished it and I'm considering starting from the beginning and reading it again, just to see how the hell she put this thing together. What I can't fathom is how she managed to use sustained metaphors to glue the story together, but nothing screams, "I'm a metaphor!" Erens achieves several subtle effects with this book. I highly recommend it. And I recommend Inside Out China too, for a fresh take on Chinese culture and politics, as well as literature.

Mary Akers is understandably excited about her new book, RADICAL GRATITUDE AND OTHER LIFE LESSONS LEARNED IN SIBERIA. The message is awe-inspiring, and the format--one person's fictionalization of another person's true story--is fascinating to me. I look forward to reading this. Don Capone reviews the book on his groovy blog, Capone's Hit List.

Tao Lin's relentless layering of self-questioning, metafiction, autopromotion, and literary scab-picking never fails to intrigue me, sometimes moving me to tears. You either grok it or you don't. I feel like an old lady getting a peek into the future of literature, the way literature will be after I am dead. It's not a bad feeling. Check out the February post, THE GAY STEPDAD. I can't seem to link directly, you'll have to scroll.

Steve Almond's kid is cute as hell.

Janice Erlbaum also has a new book, another must-read, HAVE YOU FOUND HER, about her experiences volunteering at the very shelter she lived in as a teenager. The book is an amazing feat of both writing and living. She found a special kid at the shelter, became dangerously attached to her, then rode a yearlong rollercoaster as the kid went in and out of hospitals. I won't give away what happens, you have to read it. She's been blogging about her promotion gigs, and trying to balance them with the part she actually loves more...writing the next book. As a reader, I want her to write the next book too. She's one of my favorite voices ever.

And at Writers in Profile, Kelly Spitzer is talking to writers and editors about slush, the "necessary evil." It's worth reading, maybe as an exercise in tough self-love.

I Didn't Submit To This, But I Love This List

I'm just now catching up on my blog reading and learned about a new controversy involving an unawarded fiction prize. (Thanks to Ed Champion for schooling me.) Remember a few years ago when Zoo Press decided none of the entries in its fiction contest deserved the book prize?

It's happened again. This time it was the Willesden Herald, and I must say, if the contest was destined not to have a winner, then they handled it better than Zoo press. They offered to split the prize money among the finalists, and publish a list of their names. The finalists were too pissed to play along. They were mad at the judge, Zadie Smith, for not just picking someone. Understandable.

While it is hard to believe that a slush pile of 800 stories contains no winner, one benefit comes out of this contest, a very handy list of reasons short stories don't win contests. I'm saving this list. My favorite: number 23, Faux Jollity. "I think humour only ever exists in something that sets out to be serious. Anything that sets out to be humorous is doomed." I'm guilty of that crime, for sure, the desperate attempt at humor. Or humour, depending on where I'm sending the story.

And Zadie, I can't judge you. I didn't see the stories. I'm just glad I didn't submit.

The Ongoing Pain of the Penultimate Chapter

So, my novel in progress. I've been writing chapter 19 of 20 for about five months. Just figured out that Chapter 19 should really be two chapters, so now I'm writing chapter 20 of 21. This happened last time I tried to write a novel. It took me the same amount of time to wrap up the first draft as it took to write the first 90% of it. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I allergic to finishing?

I'm analyzing it, this tendency to draw out the end, to get stuck in the penultimate chapter. It's not fear of the next project. I have two next projects on deck, and I'm enthused about both. It's hard to keep from distracting myself with them. Projaholic's curse.

I think part of it is that old bugaboo, the critical brain. The closer I get to the end of the draft, the sooner I'll have to turn the critic back on, the part of my brain that points out the flaws in brilliant color. That part of the brain is jumping up already, and I'm having trouble batting it back down. It's a little like that Whack-a-Mole game. Just shut up already, until I finish this, okay? It's hard to remind myself keep going, don't think about what's wrong with it, don't think about craft, or fixing it, just keep going, just keep going, just keep going.

Is Literary Fiction "Fragile?"

Anyone else read that thoughtful interview in the latest Poets & Writers with veteran editor Pat Strachan? Wow, she's the real deal. I was particularly struck by this, on how she doctors fiction:

I do think it's extremely dangerous to mess with a novel structurally, because it's close to poetry in that it's almost pure consciousness. The way it comes forth from the writer is the way it should probably be, even though maybe the beginning is unclear or not enough action happens in this part or whatever. With a literary book—I hate to say literary, but a piece of serious fiction that isn’t genre fiction—I try to stay away from structural suggestions because they can be very damaging. One big change can make the whole house of cards fall apart. So with literary fiction I really try to stick to line editing. I also think the less done the better, and I consider myself a fairly heavy editor. But I do as little as I can do, because a work of serious literature is a very fragile construction.

I've been writing fiction for 10+ years and still feel way too inexperienced to agree or disagree with this. My Kerouac-adoring, first-thought-best-thought-digging gut sees some big truth in it. My head is full of ringing bells. I've messed up a few stories along the way with various Frankenrevisions. But I'm also thinking hey, it's just story, it's malleable and rubbery, can it really be that delicate? Are we disrespecting story by calling it delicate? What do you think?

Blog Boredumb, I Has It

Sorry folks, I just haven't been able to get my brain in blog mode. Too many waves allocated to other things. Like my novel, Alma, first draft almost done, but I won't jinx it by yapping about it. And my job, which I frankly was able to phone in for awhile, but now I have a new boss, new challenges, and finally feel like I'm not just taking up space. It's pedal-to-metal all day at the office, which feels good, makes the day go fast. I miss that lunch-writing break I used to take in the coffeeshop downstairs, but that will come back, eventually, when the job urgency dies down a little.

Anyhoo, when I click on that Internet Explorer icon at the end of the day, I'm more prone to engage in passive activities. Like looking at videos. Have you discovered the page of Flocke videos? Flocke the insanely cute Eisbar? If you need to restore your faith in the power of cute, check her out. Here's one from Youtube:



She's a vocal creature. I think she will be one fierce bear. And speaking of creatures, have you seen the otters holding hands? It's got the plot of a mindless romcom movie. Be sure to watch to the surprise ending.



I'm tired. This is what I have been reduced to, cute-worship. I even check into I Can Has Cheezburger every day, how sick is that? Here's one of my recent favorites:


Enter the ICHC online Poker Cats Contest!

Okay. I'm laughing at puns now. Be worried.

Red-Handed! JMWW Anthology Volume 2

Folks, I'm delighted to be anthologized again. This time, it's the JMWW annual, which is an offshoot of their awesome web mag. I just got my contributor copy in the mail. Yay!

The anthology is fabulous, and available via Lulu. Here's a great example of how POD technology puts power into the hands of the people, enabling indie web-based litmags to publish print editions, without breaking the bank. It's a smartly edited, fresh collection, and an honor to be included. These folks at JMWW are going places.

Checking In. Still Alive!

Hi guys, sorry I haven't been blogging much. Life has a way of creeping up. My day job has been taking all of my left brain cells, and some of the right too. Let's just say it's nice to feel challenged, and the work environment has been doing the job well. But I should not use that as an excuse!

Here's an update of my life lately. Just got back from a wonderful whirlwind trip to Los Angeles, where I played scrabble with family and enjoyed myself immensely, doing very little. I'm trying to plug away on my novel #2. Meanwhile, my first novel is one of 836 semifinalists in Amazon's first novel contest, which has more in common with American Idol than any other literary contest I've seen. If you're so inclined, you can read (or review!) an excerpt here, or check out the Publisher's Weekly review that comes as one of the "prizes" for semifinalists. I'm happy with the review. They clearly read the whole book, grokked the characters, and summarized it very well. Thanks, anonymous reviewers!! Thanks too, to the rest of you who chimed in.

Other stuff? I'll be at the AWP conference next Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, so if you're there, look out for my nametag. I'll be the one trying to carry too much swag, take in too many panels, then sneak off to the day job at lunch. Part of me wishes it wasn't in New York, so I wouldn't be tempted to go to the office. See you there?

My Inspiring Reads of 2007

Geez, has it been a whole month since I last posted? Well, at least that's proof I'm not addicted to blogging. Any more, that is.


It's been a momentous reading year for me, thanks to the 2 hours I spend daily on the subway. And since my focus here is on what resonated for me, I'll talk about these books from memory.


I'm not a journalist, I'm not factchecking, and I'm not writing your bleeping term paper for you either. (So HA! all you dot-edu-ers in my web stats, all searching for book reviews you can turn into plagiarized schoolwork. Do other bloggers have this problem?)


So here's what I read and loved and remembered in 2007, not counting books by people I know, where my reading pleasure was tainted by bias.




LET THE NORTHERN LIGHTS ERASE YOUR NAME. Vendela Vida is almost a miniaturist. This slim novel, the story of a mourning American woman's journey to Lapland, has some of the cleanest, freshest, most compact language I have ever seen. Don't rush through it, though it moves quickly. Savor the cool, tiny chapters and mirrored metaphors. Her precision is rare. This author deserves more attention than she gets.




PAINT IT BLACK. Janet Fitch's fat Los Angeles novel is almost the anti-Vida. Another mourning character with a need for mothering. Only this time a hot, dry landscape, and hot language to go with it. Lush, big narrative chapters, deep character study. The troubled, druggie protag stayed with me long after I put the book down. And I adore Fitch's LA--it resembles the LA I've known and visited more than anything else I've read.



NO ONE BELONGS HERE MORE THAN YOU. Miranda July has nailed the square peg thing. The characters in her acclaimed short stories are hopelessly needy and lacking in social skills. Readers are left with a melancholy longing to connect with other human beings, and a dark conviction that this connection will never live up to expectations. Oh yeah, and it's funny. July's ear for dialogue is one of a kind.





SAFEKEEPING and A THREE DOG LIFE. I am in love with these books. Abigail Thomas has changed the way I think about memoir. She's dispensed with the notion of the singular narrative arc, and tells her life the way real people tell stories on themselves--in fragments, with tangents, and echoes, and repetition, and reframed events, and strategic omissions. SAFEKEEPING tells of her second marriage, and A THREE DOG LIFE tells of her third. Tragedy and bad luck all over the place, but they teach gratitude. I want to write like her when I grow up.




MILK. Darcey Steinke's take on religious phenomena is striking and refreshing, in a world where most literature with spiritual subject matter is either party-line-religious or angry-atheist. In the world of this novel, seeing God is a mystical gift, but we're never quite sure if mental illness doesn't play a role too. Members of the clergy are troubled human beings, with sexual urges, vocational doubts, and conscience.





FUN HOME. Alison Bechdel's graphic memoir made me weep on the subway. And also made me cover the page, riding the train with the Flatbush God Squad, suddenly aware I was looking at pictures of girls in flagrante. Told episodically, it's a bittersweet gay coming-out story. Sweet, the way Bechdel's inner lesbian light goes off from reading French women's literature. Sad, the way her father lived a life in the closet, which turned him into a ball of angst, a difficult person to live with. Brilliant drawings of her childhood homestead, a fixer-upper Victorian, with markers of the 1970's tossed in.

Come Hear Us Read, November 28th, NYC

THIS JUST IN.....

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

NEW Reading Series!!

Friends of Tuesday Shorts are now appearing monthly at the Boxcar Lounge (http://boxcarlounge.com/): Our FIRST phenomenal reading is November 28, 2007, 8:00 PM, 168 Avenue B, East Village NYC.

Please join us and forward to anyone you know. We wanna see your shorts there too!Hosted by Shelly Rae Rich, writer (see http://blog.shellyraerich.com/) and co-editor of Tuesday Shorts (http://myspace.com/tuesdayshorts), the series kicks off with an eclectic group of talent.

And here they are…..

Rusty Barnes grew up in rural northern Appalachia. He received his B.A. from Mansfield University of Pennsylvania and his M.F.A. from Emerson College. His fiction, poetry and non-fiction have appeared in journals like Pindeldyboz, Post Road, and Red Rock Review. After editing fiction for the Beacon Street Review (now Redivider) and Zoetrope All-Story Extra, he co-founded Night Train, a recently reinvented literary journal, which has been featured in the Boston Globe, The New York Times, and on National Public Radio. Sunnyoutside Press published a collection of his flash fiction, Breaking it Down in November 2007.

Linda DiGusta is a freelance writer and artist. Active in the NYC theatre for more than a decade as a director, designer and performer, the inventiveness of acting and collaboration on a screenplay re-kindled her early interest in fiction, and she has had several short stories published in print and online. In the fine art world, she currently has 2 still-life drawings in the exhibition "Lineal Investigations" at the Housatonic Museum of Art, and her assemblages and drawings have been seen in group exhibitions in Manhattan and Brooklyn, including at Art Gotham in Chelsea this month. Integrating art and writing, Linda also writes for and serves as Executive Editor of Resolve40.com, an online publication created by artists in 2005 to present the art world from a fresh point of view. She lives in midtown Manhattan with artist Mark Wiener and their multi-species family. More at: http://www.lindadi.com/ and http://www.resolve40.com/.

Anne Elliott has performed her poetry, with and without ukulele, at the Whitney Museum (with the Beats show), PS122, Lincoln Center, The Poetry Project at St. Mark's, Woodstock '94, and other venues in and out of NYC. Her poems have appeared in Aloud: Voices from the Nuyorican Poets' Cafe, Verses that Hurt: Pleasure and Pain from the Poemfone Poets, and other anthologies. Her fiction has appeared in Hobart, Pindeldyboz, FRiGG, Ars Medica, and others, and she blogs on the writing life and feral cat management at http://assbackwords.blogspot.com/.

Carol Novack, a former criminal defense lawyer and Australian government grant recipient, is the author of a chapbook of poetry, play, collaborative CD and two collaborative films. Writings may or will be found in many publications, including American Letters & Commentary, Action Yes, Del Sol Review, Diagram, 5_trope, Gargoyle, Journal of Experimental Fiction, La Petite Zine, LIT, Notre Dame Review, and the Star*Vigate anthology of best online writings. Carol publishes the multi-media e-journal Mad Hatters' Review (http://madhattersreview.com/), curates a reading series at the KGB Bar, and runs lyrical fiction writing workshops. She'll be a resident at The Vermont Studio Center next year. For additional details, see her blog (http://carolnovack.blogspot.com/).

Still NaNoing (Sort Of)

Well, folks, the same thing happened to me that happens to a lot of people in November...life. Dayjob stuff captured my attention, and kept me from thinking about my NaNoWriMo novel last week. I've crossed the 25,000 word halfway mark, but I'm way behind quota, and there's no way I'll catch up.

Still, it's 25,000 words I didn't have before. And I'm still going. I'm doing about 1500 a day at the moment, but once you're behind, you're behind. So be it! It's supposed to be an exercise in unconditional self-love, so I'm gonna go easy on myself.

Yell at me if you think I've got it wrong.