I am sorry that I haven’t returned your book yet, but I cannot read your street address.
Can you send me a note with the correct address on it?? Thanks!
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nose in books
I’ve been researching the new WIP like a fiend, but will lift my face out of the musty library books briefly for this update.
Happy Belated Father’s Day to all. We had a grand time – hung out with our dads, feted BH, called G (dad to daughter’s #1 & #3), and ate massive amounts of barbequed chicken and strawberry shortcake. I baked the shortcake, much to the puzzlement of my family which so rarely sees me in the kitchen. #1 Son and Jess, daughter #2, made BH feel very proud and paternal. If you want to make your dad laugh, send him here.
A couple of teachers have written to tell me that SPEAK made it into their school’s yearbook as one of the students’ favorite books. This feels very nice. Even better is the fact that Best Books is now a yearbook category. Maybe there hope after all.
Summer solstice is coming up this week. When I lived in Denmark, it was a night of great parties and amazing bonfires. Might have to recreate a little of that here in the Forest.
If any of you are bored out of your skulls, see if you can track down a copy of the diary and sketches (1762-1780)of Lt-general Archibald Robertson. I think the formal author names are Robertson and Henry Miller Lydenberg. There is a microfilm copy at SUNY Oswego, but I would like to find a hard copy to borrow so I can photocopy and blow up some of the sketches of New York in the time period of the WIP.
One more thing. I tried to watch TV yesterday. Miami Ink, to be precise. I enjoy tattoos and the stories behind them, but I wanted to find the directors/editors of the show and through them to the sharks. They stretch 5 minutes of story-telling into half an hour by repeating things over and over and over again. One guy, about to ship out with the Navy, wanted a koi fish to remind him of his son. OK, let’s leave the fact that they never explained the fish=son connection alone for a sec. They told us that he was getting the “koi fish for his son” seven freaking times before the artist even fired up the machine. ARGH!!!!!!!!!!! My brain was shrinking by the second.
Most television sucks.