I just watched Austrian skydiver Felix Baumgartner jump out of a balloon from 128,000 feet in order to break the sound barrier. He flew at sub-sonic speed at 700 mph for five minutes and all I kept thinking was Land on Your Feet. My boyfriend who is also Austrian and also 43, called out “Come here. You’ve got to see this!” I’d been glued to my computer for the last three days and was happy for the interruption. I correct English Comp papers and I’m not going to lie. I am worried that text speak is replacing sentences and then I worry that our memories are being erased by computer monitors because kids are learning how to scan instead of learning to absorb and recall information. And I’m worried that I’ve concerned you. After my last blog post, I have been touched by your emails and encouragement. I want to give back. Here is me committing to you: I am not going to keep my good news from you. The fact is I have a book for grabs and want to see it in your hands. I will ask for your help when I know what help looks like. Thank you for extending your hand. For now, I’m taking the baton from one of my favorite sharers of good news: writer, Shannon Barber. Do you know her?:http://shannonsdreams.wordpress.com/
My memoir “SPENT” is hanging out on a couple of desktops at the moment. I’m awaiting a contract to secure one of my stories in David Henry Sterry’s forthcoming anthology: John’s, Marks, Tricks and Chickenhawks: Professionals and Clients Writing about Each Other. Outrageous title. He’s pretty amazing and has been kind and helpful to me. My fiction will soon be out in The Heroin Chronicles Edited by Jerry Stahl. I have an essay coming out in Word Riot’s 10th Anniversary Anthology about getting drugged on a paid date. I have an essay “Here Comes the Girl” soon to appear on The Rumpus about temptation, crossing over and rising from the ashes. You may be wondering when I am going to write about fertility, wrinkles, soap operas or wearing seven-inch heels after 40. I believe in free falling in snazzy shoes.
Land on Your Feet.
Have I mentioned that since my Rumpus Letter in the Mail went out, I have had many amazing letters in response? Some days I come home to 3 letters with special red lined tape and temporary dragon tattoos. Other days it’s more like 7. I have a pile of them to respond to still including a woman whose father married a serial killer who worked as a caregiver. She was a super creep in pink terrycloth shorts named Barbara. One girl sent me a one-page beautifully written sad story about something horrible her father said to her in front of her siblings. It took me a while to respond to her because her letter implied she was not bothered by it, but I was very bothered by it.
Lastly, I want to fuck my boyfriend’s car. It’s that simple. This horny piece of German machinery will replace skin any second, like monitor screens are replacing infant memories. It sounds like a panther and is slick and fast. Not that I want to have sex with a panther but if that panther was a white Porsche—prrrrr. I’m going to find some matching rhinestone gloves and gun it.