Good God, people! Will I never learn? This article I'm working on has turned into a many-tentacled thing that I'm now trying to organize into a tidy bunch of words. As usual, I've gotten about four thousand sources, because it was all just so interesting I had to keep asking questions, didn't I? and now I've got about a dozen interviews to transcribe, notes to review, and an outline to impose on all of it. Meanwhile, of all the damn things, one of my sources is in prison, and I haven't heard from him yet. Don't ask.

It's slushy and awful out. The birds don't know whether it's spring or not. It's not. We're months away from spring, and a slushy yucky maze of February days to get through first. As I always do this time of year, I'm badly wishing I still lived in California. The rhododendrons and bougainvilla (sp) will start to bloom soon out there, and the hills will all turn green with ivy and iceplant. Those of you who ARE out in California--a pox on you, you lucky rats.

Meanwhile, research for the novel is coming along. I'm midway through a slash-and-burn of material I've already written to clear out space in my head for what comes next. All is starting to take shape. I've made big progress in recent weeks, so I'm excited about it for the moment. Remind me of that when I start hating it again.

The Minneapolis scene is a-hopping. The advent of Facebook has got everyone up in everyone else's business all the time, which means you can't go twenty minutes before there's another event posted. My favorite are the Thursday Night Hootenannies. Gotta love a Hootenanny. I recently managed to miss a party in celebration of John Berryman's birthday, at which his "Dream Songs" were read by a dozen folks, and at which I hear much fun was had, which I missed, dammit. The next such gig is a celebration of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" in the flat where it was written, at which we're all instructed to read poems involving motorcycles. Or, presumably, Zen. The theater scene in winter gets thick and busy. There are something like 65 theater companies in Minneapolis/St. Paul, so it's wicked to try to keep up. Just saw a production of Edward Albee's "A Delicate Balance," which my mother hated, but I liked, except for one character who was SO AWFUL I nearly shrieked. Next I'm going to see a friend's production of "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," which is staged so zanily I'm curious to see how the theater will contain it. All in all, Minneapolis is happening as usual, and does a good job of distracting us all from the Massive Winter Doldrums enough that we make it through to March without going totally berserk.

So! How's about that new President? What a day!

And that's the report from my office. It's back to wrestling the octopus with me. More soon.

Peace,
m