There might be some hiccups in terms of people who've signed up for this blog getting updates, via email. I'm hearing that. The webmaster is out in the woods camping, but hopefully that will be resolved either by her, soon, or else just magically, where it's all of a sudden better. I lack the skills.
Interesting day. I must be quick now so as to get back to what I must tend to. Sold my first op-ed to The Wall Street Journal. It's on how we erroneously think that hiding whatever it is that we're struggling with, rather than talking freely about it, is necessary for us not to look week, when in reality it's the other way around. Speaking with The Boston Globe Magazine about doing a piece in conjunction with the forthcoming publication of Buried on the Beaches: Cape Stories for Hooked Hearts and Driftwood Souls. Also talking with the Coolidge Corner Theatre about doing a series of talks/seminars there on some film subject or other. I'm sure we'll find something.
Ran three miles, walked three, climbed the Bunker Hill Monument five times, and talked about my new short story, "Last Light Out," which is in Glimmer Train, on Downtown with Rich Kimball. I get bored off my tits when writers drone on about the crap they "birthed" or some such laughable term. But this is different. Worth a listen. Worth another listen. I've worked, too, with a lot of people on the radio, and Rich is great at what he does, just the top.
Now back to it. Here's a song first, though. Song of the day. Also, good advice. Great debut album by these guys, from 2002. Didn't do much in the States. They also had a killer first single called "You Might As Well Try to Fuck Me." Yes! That one rocks well! But this one has the sage advice.