My little sister…

My little sister informed me this morning that this is my golden birthday, as I have turned 26 on the 26th. :-)

It is just about lunchtime, and an excellent birthday so far. Conversations with family, Roshani, David -- I've spent more time on the telephone this morning than I probably have in two weeks at Clarion. :-) All the Clarion people are being very sweet to me, hooray. And a story idea that I've been sort of twisting around in my head started coming into sharp focus, which is really nice.

It's an odd sensation when it does that. You start with an idea, right? A rather vague one. It bounces around in your head, while you try to figure out who's the one talking in the story, and what person do you want to use, and how old are they, and at what point in the story should you start talking....all these decisions you have to make before you put down word one. (Of course you don't have to. You can go back and rewrite it. You may anyway. But it's nice to know where you're starting from). For me, there usually comes a point where I'm considering another possibility for all of these -- and it just clicks. The idea stands up and shouts and says 'yes! tell my story THIS way'. It's a big relief, let me tell you. For the story I'm working on, that happened this morning. There are still a bunch of unclear areas that will probably come into focus before I actually start writing, but I'm at a much more comfortable place to be in the story now. (Oh, this one is gonna be sad. This one will hopefully wring your heart out...)

So now off to lunch with whomever I can drag...then pick up some stuff for the party tonight (ice cream, balloons, etc...) and maybe a present or two for myself. Fun. :-) Then probably come back and try to get some more work done.

Life is good. 25 was a good age to be -- I had a great year in most respects. I am lucky. I am blessed. I'm glad I know that...

A birthday poem by Charles Bukowski, for your reading pleasure:

Poem For My 43rd Birthday

To end up alone
in a tomb of a room
without cigarettes
or wine--
just a lightbulb
and a potbelly,
and glad to have
the room. the morning
they're out there
making money:
judges, carpenters,
plumbers, doctors,
newsboys, policemen,
barbers, carwashers,
dentists, florists,
waitresses, cooks,

and you turn over
to your left side
to get the sun
on your back
and out
of your eyes.

And a little long to include here, I recommend stopping by to read Dylan Thomas's Poem on His Birthday.

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