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Back from Oregon where I participated in a very intense generative corporealwriting.com workshop with Lidia Yuknavitch and eighteen immensely talented writers. Maybe because of what I was writing about, maybe because of the hurricanes and floods and forest fires everywhere, I’ve been suffering from insomnia, which has persisted now that I’m home. Other reasons probably: I’m doing a reading at Alley Cat Books on Thursday. Steve’s doing four readings this week and next. We have guests from Amsterdam (earlier because of the fires at Yosemite) and our house is very small. Classes start soon and I haven’t even begun to organize my syllabi and handouts. I’m writing about some taboo subjects, stirring up old memories. That’s of course as exciting as it is disturbing. Came home to good and bad. Some rejections (always), one a very impersonal, unsigned rejection from a platform where I published a fairly controversial (but very widely read) essay last summer, making me feel that the editor doesn’t want to work with me again. I’ll admit I can be paranoid. More exciting, some invitations. Superstition Review has invited me to participate in their Authors Write podcast series some time in October. I’m very excited, and love the podcasts in the series so far. Someone who took a workshop from me at a memoir conference over a year ago recommended me highly to the Sacramento Writers Club, and they invited me to give a talk there. I’m excited about that too. Right before I left for the workshop, I had a flash accepted at Fiction Southeast, a stellar magazine where I've long aspired to publish. I managed to make a recording of the story and to write an essay for them about how I wrote the story despite the flurry of departure. I’ll do another post about my tribute to Judith Ortiz Cofer that came out in Assay while I was gone.
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