All I’m writing these days is lists

Ain’t it the truth. Lists, lists, lists. I just made three: a master list, my sub-list and Kev’s sub-list. Later, I might make a list of the lists I have to make. My brain is swirly and the only cure is listing. Once, when we were on vacation, after a time of great list-making and gnashing of teeth, we saw a comic in the paper.  A man and a woman on a desert island. There’s nothing around. A palm tree. And he’s saying to her, “Okay, if it’s that important to you, we can make a to-do list.”

That comic is my marriage. And my brain, in a nutshell. Emphasis on nut.

That said, Fallsy Downsies is alive and well inside my head. Read from it at Porkpie, a few disparate sections that I wove together, and it felt great. Great great great. So great. So that’s good.

And I’m awaiting further news about Homing-the-film (my publisher and I signed an option agreement with a new local production company a few weeks back, which is super exciting, and really only made sense to me when I heard myself tell my mother, “so, they wanna make a movie out of Homing.” Craaaa-zeeee.)

Meantime, I make lists and read other people’s manuscripts. I’m editing a gorgeous book right now for Invisible. It’s called Migration Songs and it’s by Anna Quon who’s awesome and from around these parts. I’m really excited to be working on it. And given the list of things to do that’s breathing down my neck… I’d better go edit some of it right now.


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