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Tuesday, September 20, 2005

The Front Steps to Nowhere

News on the grapevine has crawled north. Make that a scuppernong vine in my grandmother's yard in Collins...

Philip Lee Williams' first novel, The Heart of A Distant Forest (W. W. Norton, in the long-past literary year of 1984), has a new incarnation as a University of Georgia paperback. Merit rewarded...

Howard Bahr's The Judas Field is finally in production.

The Blue Moon Cafe IV anthology party that I missed in August was reported to be sultry, more than 100 degrees. Free-flowing refreshments were had by all and sweating Mississippi sundry. Meanwhile I was in the mountains.

Note to self: tell Sonny Brewer (editor of TBMCIV) that his first novel has materialized in the teeny-tiny Cooperstown library. That must mean something important. If it's there, it must have achieved A Ridiculous Ubiquity, worthy of champagne and confetti.

One of my penpals has lost his family home in Gulfport, swept away by Katrina. Only the front steps were left. That's a image out of a Southern high-summer nightmare: stand, reaching out for the door on the front steps to no time, at the entry to nothingness, in the archway to the dadgum yawning abyss where the generations vanished.

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Alas, I must once again remind large numbers of Chinese salesmen and other worldwide peddlers that if they fall into the Gulf of Spam, they will be eaten by roaming Balrogs. The rest of you, lovers of grace, poetry, and horses (nod to Yeats--you do not have to be fond of horses), feel free to leave fascinating missives and curious arguments.