What I’m Excited About

Stuff that has me enthused…

The Creative Cusp!

The Creative Cusp is Abbie Berry’s baby. Abbie’s a phenomenal woman, and a damn good writer too. I’m helping her with web design, marketing, and some of that make-it-happen magic that I sometimes conjure.

What’s The Creative Cusp? I think – and this is the reason I chose to get involved with it – it’s the best opportunity that’s come along since I’ve been here for us as San Diego writers to find our niche, to grow in our own environment, and to have some realistic goals for what we can accomplish and what our role is in the community. There’s two parts to it –

1) Weekend Writing Workshops. We’ve gotten together with local writers to put on fun but serious learning experiences. The workshops will take place once a month this summer – go here to see which weekends are available. Abbie’s got a ton of people interested in these things, so if you’re considering going, sign up now so we can save your place.

2) Publishing. San Diego is starving for words! Every quarter we’ll be staving off the hunger for a bit with La Chingadera, a selection of fiction, poetry, and non-fiction writing about San Diego. If you love San Diego, we need your words. We’ll also consider publishing longer pieces – collections, non-fiction pieces and novels.

Publishing includes promotion too, of course – we’d like you to publish with us, but ultimately we don’t care if you’re with Creative Cusp or Random House. If you’re writing beautiful things about San Diego, we’ll help you get your words out.

Jen’s blogging (finally)

Right here! At last!

Actually, the truth is, she’s been blogging for a while on her flickr. A few weeks back she even got a little taste of blogebrity. It reminds me of how much talent she has – she has the eye and the artistic skills of the household… as I say often, I’m only good at what I do because I make up for my lack of talents with my canine enthusiasm.

Mike Por

Mike’s one of my best friends, so it’s hard to write about him objectively, but I’m so proud of him that I’m going to try anyway. His current project involves housing and infrastructure projects in Cambodia, including plans to bring foundational services to the Cambodian people (trash pickup, reliably clean water, green power).

It’s amazing what we take for granted. When I was in Cambodia this January, I learned firsthand what not having trash pickup means. It means severe air pollution. Why air pollution? Because without trash pickup, everyone burns their trash. A pickup service would mean cleaner air, meaning less respiratory problems, meaning a happier, healthier Cambodia. Who knows what art, what words might come out of the place if half the people weren’t spending their lives hacking up a lung?

I chat with Mike a few times a month, and every time I hear from him there’s a part of me that cringes, because when you dream as big as he’s dreaming you’re bound to get spanked a few times. Not this guy though! His dreams just keep getting bigger – in addition to his American investors he has Korean, Chinese and Cambodian investors lines up as well. Mike’s a great guy with a big heart, and I know whatever he ends up with over there, it’ll be good.

A Story About San Diego

I started this novel on December 26, 2005. Two and a half years later, the end is finally in sight. Thank you everyone who’s read the early drafts and given me all that valuable feedback – I couldn’t have done this without you.

More soon on the book, I promise…

Decisive, The Story

There’s an underlying tension that becomes necessary when the poet reaches a certain age and realizes that things happen, utterly, and without violence or turbulence but rather mom’s sublime decisiveness…

the thing is sad, maybe, but also hopeful, confident, full of plans which are made not oblivious to the rules but wholly conscious of them – nine innings, sixty minutes, a single beating heart.

It was the story (at Leland and Park)

I sat under that oak in Peers Park
around eight on a late-April Tuesday
her ten-speed leaning against the trunk
a sack of pastries between my feet
the lawn glistening in the post-dawn
red-breasts chirping & yanking at worms,
the SF train blowing two miles north.

My mind was on her & her fleshes
in hardcore flashes from last night
and earlier grins signing the docs
and all of our plans for the place –
the den, the office, the hobby room
the downstairs which we’ll rent and
the wall we’ll knock down and which part
of the yard our garden will go –

when I happened to notice
an accident, a happenstance –
one green leaf from that old oak
falling
without chorus or circumstance
pattering on the gleaming lawn
for no good reason, and no good rhyme,
and in what month, and at what time?