Friday, March 30, 2012

Feet People

On Wednesday, I got hit by a car while I was running through a crosswalk with a stop sign at it. I guess a more appropriate term is that I was nudged by a car, since I am not in any way injured. I don't even have a bruise. Luckily, the bad driver saw me just in time and slammed on her brakes. People in this town hate pedestrians. Or, as my husband and I call ourselves, feet people. I don't know Latin, but I like to pretend that I do. Ped, meaning feet. Estrian, meaning people.

Anyway, I'm very glad to say that we're moving this summer to St. Paul, a town where feet people are probably more widely accepted. A place where people are less likely to yell "Drive a damn car!" at you from the windows of their crappy pickup trucks.

In addition to the big moving news, there is other news! Issue 5 of TRNSFR magazine is now available to purchase, where I'm happy to keep company with such wonderful writers as Russ Woods, J.A. Tyler, James Tadd Adcox, and Hazel Foster, whose piece you can read for free on the TRNSFR site.

I also have a few poems in the April issue of elimae, and a poem that went up in the February issue of Midway Journal.

I know it's not new news, but I'm still getting rejections like crazy. Since September 1st, I've received almost forty. But I have a bunch of pending submissions, which will either blossom into tiny little butterflies of acceptances, or rot in their submishmashable graves, with a little red "Declined" staring me dead in the face. Each one is like a little wish.

Happy weekend!

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

I Have a Book and You Don't (Or Maybe You Do)

My husband wrote the title of this blog post for me.

Anyway, the first part is true: I have a book. It's a beautiful little thing, and you can hold it with your real American hands! Or your hands of other nationalities, if you're willing to pay for international shipping.

My twenty-sixth birthday has come and gone, and I am no longer halfway between twenty and thirty. I am getting further and further away from twenty-one, and have fewer opportunities to blame my indiscretions on being young, in college, everything that goes with being in college, etc.

Now I just have to blame them on the truth: I'm an idiot most of the time.

The book is no indiscretion, though. I did this on purpose. And I don't think it sucks. If you have five bucks, you can read it for yourself and decide.