rainy night house

Welcome another terrific (yes I know that word is overused, shut up) poet to the blogosphere: Megan O'Reilly. Hi, Megan!

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Tennis season is back -- the Australian Open began this evening. Yay! I love watching tennis, and it's also nice that if a match isn't especially compelling, the repetitive sound of it fades easily into the background, so I can get some reading or writing or editing or mindless net-surfing accomplished. I'm pulling for James Blake on the men's side; I really think this will be his year to land a Grand Slam trophy. On the women's side, I'd love to see Martina Hingis do well, though I doubt she has a shot at the title -- but you never know.

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Caffeine is my friend. Today I proved, once again, that if I just hit the right caffeination level, I will be productive almost despite myself. I've got a slightly-revised chapbook manuscript ready to go out to one contest, and a brand-new (well, newly-cobbled-together) chapbook manuscript almost ready to go out to another contest. The new one has two or three poems in common with the old one, but no more than that, and feels very different to me. It needs a title, though. I also made minor, but in some cases important, revisions to a nice stack of poems.

I don't think I particularly believe in the Muse, but coffee is definitely the Nectar of the Muse, for me.

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I've been reading Christopher Moore's Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal, which is just hysterically funny. If you're looking for a book that will make you gigglesnort in a most unladylike fashion in public places, and you're not easily offended by extreme irreverence (though without any disrespect) towards people and events from the Bible, I highly recommend this one.

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Rain here. Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain. But at least it isn't ice. Those of you in Missouri, Illinois, etc. -- I hope you are doing OK. Stay safe!