too much fun
Mike said today, over small allegedly hot sandwiches at the Java Beach Cafe, that I have wasted no time now that I'm back in SF. I've been to an erotic art show/fundraiser for Carol Queen's new Center for Sex and Culture, eaten Ethiopian, Chinese, AND Indian food, been to a dance class, crashed a party my friends were working, run amok in the Mission with Patience and Rig, gone to a burlesque show, withstood the Mel Gibson movie in San Leandro (AX wanted to be surrounded by believers, a supposedly fun thing he'll never do again), watched the Oscars with the recuperating Snufkina, Princess of Vicodinia, and taught a kids' class. All in about 72 hours.
Which is probably why I have a head cold now. I'm no longer used to so much stimulation! I should be working my way back up!
But the really exciting news is that an essay I wrote last year has been chosen for publication in an anthology of writing by women on race and childhood. I had no idea if the editor even got it, as she never sent any sort of notice of receipt, but apparently she did, and liked it very much. So I have a week to do some tightening, write a bio, and ship it back.
I'm very stoked about this. This will be my first publication in something remotely booklike; I have been fantasizing for some time about having my work in a form that isn't stale after a week, or used to keep bus benches dry. It's also the most intimate thing I've sent out so far. It's not a critique of someone else's work or a profile of someone else's genius. It's not straight news, a cleanup of someone else's work, or a cutesy food thing. It's personal, it's vulnerable, and it's not especially slick. It will have an Amazon rank that I can obsess over.
I'm ready. I think.