Poor Misha

I confess that blogging about the sun hunters has started to feel like a chore. Is it because the days are longer now? Or is it because I'd rather be working on my long poems, happily immersed in sequences and pulling together threads and narrative and then breaking up that narrative.

But then, there's Misha, Sevario, Lydia. And there's Misha's family in South Bend, Washington--where you can eat a lot of oysters. I want to find out what will happen--and this is me, who is somehow missing the plot gene.

This could take a while.

Then I'll be back to poem-ing, free and clear.

Okay. Thanks for listening.

And while I'm feeling bad for my stranded character, I feel much more for the people in Japan and the people in Libya and the people in Saudi Arabia.

(I'm awaiting the U.S. State Department's statement on that last one.)

Two questions:

How do you make things happen in your writing?

How do you help things happen in the world?