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Saturday, December 01, 2012

Thaliad, etc.

After nine hours to and fro and in Bug Tussle, New York for a wrestling meet, I slept briefly and rose to roust the youngest for another day of it. As I must go sing some Benjamin Britten and Handel, I escaped my wrestling-mom duties...

Thaliad thank you
I want to thank everybody who ordered Thaliad on launch day. Much appreciated! It's not your average Jill and Joe who are up for an adventurous post-apocalyptic epic in blank verse, even when the book is profusely adorned by artist Clive Hicks-Jenkins and beautifully designed by Phoenicia Publishing's Elizabeth Adams. If you are curious and would like a peep at excerpts, author comments, early reviews, and images, please go here and here.

Present time
As it is the time of gifts for various holidays, I have a duty to my various publishers to remind you that I have published three books this year and one last: my 11th book, Thaliad from Phoenicia Publishing in Montreal; a collection of poems with gorgeous "green man" art by Clive Hicks-Jenkins, The Foliate Head, from Stanza Press in the UK; the wanderer's tale related to my own family history, A Death at the White Camellia Orphanage, from Mercer University Press; and The Throne of Psyche, another collection, from Mercer. Also still in print is--oddly--my very first book, Little Jordan, still in hardcover print through David R. Godine, Publisher.

Postscript Addendum, clarifying much, 

and using my J. K. Rowling license to SHOUT in CAPS
CLARIFICATION: Man, the things my friends write me letters about! Particularly the facebook friends. Hey, I call ALL HAMLETS, VILLAGES, and DOTS on the map where Cooperstonian kids go to wrestle BUG TUSSLE, irregardless of the name.


  1. Come and listen to a story ’bout a man named Jed // A poor mountaineer, barely kept his family fed...

    Small towns abound all throughout the land, even in upstate New York, don’t they?

  2. They do.

    But people think the ones where I come from are more amusing...

    Good cheer,


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.