Dancehall under the broken slabs

I just finished my first draft of my second novel. It’s totally different than ZAZEN and I have no idea what anyone will make of it. Either way, it felt good to finish. And with that, I am closer to the undergraduate degree that I have worked so sporadically to attain. Weeks away….

things are coming my way

and all the peace and quiet that comes with the completion of a task…

things are still coming my way

Also, a few words on this weeks installment of ZAZEN on Arthur Magazine, which starts off with Jimmy and Della going out to Grace and Miro’s for the anniversary. I thought it would be a perfect chapter to post the week of thanksgiving when so many of us simultaneously dread and long for home and parents. Postcards from the week’s posts:

a fresh field of GPS


and the new blossoms of our time…

the calla lillies are in bloom. Such a strange flower...

And finally this week, the long awaited sex party, Dancehall.

just a few close friends in an intimate get together

And before that the chapter on Della’s mother went up. A few ‘serious’ words on that. While I won’t say much (those reading along probably haven’t caught up), I will say that the characters of Cady and Grace were ones I have had to argue for and justify. Some have seen this part of the novel as a detour, a slowing of action, but the character of Grace was very important to me because I wanted to write about sorrow and charisma and the bind it creates. I also know that, having given Della’s parents a pretty hard time throughout the text, I wanted them to be different than what was expected and more than the subject of satire. On one hand:

And on the other:

nothing to say

Another character for whom I have had to fight is Jimmy. I will say less on that except that the complaint that a major character cannot enter then leave a novel (the complaint being, why are they there in the first place) is ridiculous. People do that in our lives all the time. Someone we spent every day with for weeks or months is suddenly elsewhere, or we are.

driving over the Black Ocean

but what are borders to a geological mind?

a suburb of Fair Prospect


  1. Enjoying the novel so far, work is slow here on a China Monday and I’ve been breezing through chapters like teenagers passing service stations on a road trip.

    Portland, Portland, have a coffee at Powell’s or a donut at Voodoo, because, alas, I cannot.

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