I had a lovely student-free day in Manhattan, nearly five hours of which went to making further cuts on the big book. I'm pretty sure when I enter all the changes I marked up on hard copy today, I will have eliminated nearly a thousand words just from cutting useless dialogue tags.
Once my brain was mush from all that mark-up, I found a theater on the Lower East Side that was still showing An Inconvenient Truth. Yep, it's inconvenient, all right. Maybe I'll become a vegetarian. (That sound you hear emanating from across the Atlantic is vgnwtch shouting encouragement.)
Had a lovely dinner at that fennel pollen place with DP and her mother and daughter. Dinner out with a three-year-old is surprisingly easy, if the three-year-old is sunny and charming, and if you arrive at the restaurant at 5:00 when there are no other patrons yet.
And then there was the reading itself, the excuse for the whole excursion.
For three years I ran a poetry series, so maybe that makes me a connoisseur of writers' performances of their own work. matociquala has the moxie. The moxie is rarer than you might think. Even if everything else had gone wrong--even if I had ended up needing to cross the bay by kayak--the reading would have been work the trouble.
Next month, Delia Sherman's one of the featured readers. I've been teaching one of her stories--her "CATNYP" is in an anthology of YA science fiction and fantasy that goes over well with my numerous thirteen year old male students who speak English as a second or third language. Anyhow, I'll be going back. Anybody in?