After the storm will come a sleep like oceans deep

[sovay]

So I don't actually think I want to talk about the ways in which yesterday worsened after my last post, but I am going to point out that once the storm proper started and the internet went down for twelve hours, when it came back up I found:

My poem "Anthemoessa on the Main Line" has been accepted by Moral Relativism Magazine. It's another one sparked by a line from ashlyme's bio, in this case "He haunts second-hand bookshops and canals, and has yet to meet a rusalka." The magazine is still reading for its fifth issue; the theme is "Loyalty and Lies." I was unable to read their guidelines without thinking immediately of Tacroy: "He lied for me for a whole day . . . And he was believed."

The accompanist from Sunday's concert came through with the offer of a paying gig. It will be in December and I will post further details as I know them. In the meantime, I am totally taking suggestions on Yiddish repertoire.

I was asked whether I've ever consulted as a fiction editor for a fee. To which the answer is pretty much: no, I just beta-read things my friends send me; but I am now wondering if that is something I could do.

B. sent me half a dozen pictures from Antalya and Termessos, including the half-statue of Herakles—now whole—that was just returned from the MFA last year.

So maybe I need more storms.

Comments

[nineweaving.livejournal.com]

So maybe I need more storms.

They are beautiful, equivocal, and cruel.

I rejoice in your good fortune, in things unfolding for you.

Nine

[sovay]

They are beautiful, equivocal, and cruel.

My father is devastated about New York. My mother greeted me by telling me Coney Island had been washed away. At least I could text derspatchel and tell him that at least according to the internet, the Cyclone was still standing. (I don't think we could have borne the irony otherwise.)

I rejoice in your good fortune, in things unfolding for you.

Thank you.