Thursday, November 21, 2002


Sucked into the world of Nanowrimo, actually writing about 1,500 words a day on a novel that intermittently has a plot. Fire, runaway nuns, adultery, astigmatism, angry children. Therefore not so much blogging.

Sunday, November 03, 2002


and yet if we are going to live in this world we have to see the sweetness in it, the silliness, the profound beauty of human emotions and desires and urges, and simple fact of life -- that we are dropped into this world and muddle our way through it, trying to make it make sense -- and that might mean doing something as seemingly trivial as surfing or collecting orchids or whatever makes you feel your life has meaning. we can't all crusade against the great evils of civilization, and we can't all live and die in big ways; we can only try in our small ways to be big; to be good at what we care about.

from an online interview with Susan Orlean, author of "The Orchid Thief."

Saturday, November 02, 2002


Still feeling grief about Paul Wellstone. Vote early and often, people.

Amazed that Oprah devoted an hour to Michael Moore & Co. re: Bowling for Columbine. Yes, she's untouchable--hell, she faced down Texas beef. But my experience with people who are in positions of power is that they tend to protect them. And you know she's going to get shit from the gun lobby for giving Moore such a platform.

In town on Thursday, a bevy of writer boys. Spotted Jay McInerney looking sleepy in the West Village. And Sebastian Junger, looking studly in the Lower East Side.

Not a lot of blog updates because I have joined the ranks of NaNoWriMo, aka National Novel Writing Month. And maybe it's the meditation, maybe it's my creativity finally settling down, or maybe I'm insane, but I'm writing up a dog-gone storm.