I got The Best American Short Stories 2005 out of the library last week and have been reading it in bits and pieces when I have time.

First things first: I was charmed by Michael Chabon’s refreshing introduction, the theme of which was entertainment and about how the main aim of fiction–short stories–is to entertain (OR that when it is the main aim, it is what pleases him).

So far, the stories in this book that have pleased me most were (not including the ones I’ve already read and loved, such as Alice Munro’s and David Bezmozgis’s): The Smile of Happy Chang’s Face by Tom Perrotta and The Girlsby Joy Williams–both of which are weird and funny and heartbreaking.

Here’s a cool blog you’ll want to bookmark and check out on a daily basis: Surviving the Workday: How to use spirituality to thrive at work

About fifteen years ago someone (a boyfriend maybe? I can’t remember. See, I’m getting old!) gifted me with something I coveted: the recordings of Dylan Thomas reading his work on cassette tape. If you have never heard these recordings, you are truly missing out as this man was not only a genius but he was clearly a performer as well. His voice is rich and rolling, filled with love for the words. But then somehow, sometimes, I lost the tapes and the voice was gone.

Until now.

I spent a good deal of yesterday on this gorgeous site The Life and Work of Dylan Thomas, which contains, among other things, poetry and prose by Dylan Thomas, read (in most cases) by Dylan Thomas. What an unexpected delight.

And so now I encourage you–go, visit, listen, and read. And listen. Listen.

I am back home and it is my birthday, which I share with Sylvia Plath and Dylan Thomas.

Today, I have also just learned that there has been another death in the family and so I will likely not be posting much again for a while.

Heading out to New Jersey on business until Wednesday night. I may or may not have time to post. It’s likely I will as hotel rooms make me lonely. Anyway, thanks for stopping by.

I am eager to see the biopic Capote, not only because I am fascinated by Truman Capote but also because one of my favorite actors–Philip Seymour Hoffman–plays him in the film. There’s an interesting interview with Hoffman at nerve.com—Imitation of Life:

As a creative person, you’re looking for that thing that frees you up, that makes you lucid, that makes you feel like all of a sudden you have ideas pumping easily. I think everyone relates to that. He was at a certain point in his career, which is where I am too. I’m at a certain point in my career as an actor. At thirty-five, you’re looking for something you weren’t looking for when you were twenty-one. You don’t know what that is, and then it comes across your face. Perry Smith [one of the killers] walking up the courthouse steps. What impact did it have on a man’s life, much less a culture of a country? When it comes to journalism and writing and celebrity and reality television, for God’s sake. It really does spin out into an area that’s pretty huge. I mean, there’s people who don’t know who Capote is who’ve been affected by that book.

Just got this in email, sounds like something I would like to read:

Diary of a Florida Congressional Candidate

Floridian Richard Grayson has just published his book Diary of a Congressional Candidate in Florida’s Fourth Congressional District (http://www.lulu.com/content/172015), which narrates his experience running against Ander Crenshaw in 2004 in the most Republican part of the state. Richard says that the book is meant to be funny, but it also gets at the problems of Florida Democrats in taking back Congressional seats. The LuLu website puts it this way:

Originally published online as a regular feature on the McSweeney’s Internet Tendency website, Richard Grayson’s diary chronicles the hopeless 2004 campaign of an emo-loving vegetarian short story writer against a right-wing incumbent in Florida’s most Republican congressional district. With his support of socialized medicine, abortion on demand, gay marriage, and immediate withdrawal from Iraq anathema to most of his conservative constituency, Grayson jokes his way through a quixotic campaign to capture the hearts and minds of the minority of North Florida voters who possess those organs.

And for those who don’t want to spend their money on the book, the McSweeney’s website is still up: www.mcsweeneys.net/links/candidate

For your reading pleasure, I offer you the new edition of one of my all-time favorite ezines–FRiGG. There is too much good stuff to pluck out just a few. Gone on and read it and be amazed.

The Night Train Richard Yates Short Story Award Competition (judged by Ed Falco) ends November 18th. The entry fee is only $10 and you receive a copy of the journal for entering. The prize is $500.

You’ve got a month to enter–so go on and do it! I double dog dare you.

The Vintage Players present
In the Shadow of the Globe
adapted from the novel-in-verse by Michelle Cameron

at NOMA Gallery
648 Main Street, Middletown, Connecticut
Saturday, October 22, 2005, 7:30 pm
Admission free; donations gratefully accepted.

Listen up (I’m saying it again!): look at this web site–areas of my expertise and listen to this hobo names.

How could I have forgotten that it is hunting season? How could I have naively entered the woods in tan trousers and a light colored coat with my blonde hair and have forgotten? How could I have taken my fawn-colored dog into the woods? I saw these signs and was reminded yesterday, that now is not the time for such reckless behavior as a walk in the woods.

I do love Autumn. In New England, it is, as expected, magical. But hunting season, I can do without, truth be told. Where I grew up the boys and men (and some of the women) looked forward to this time of year when they would load up their trucks with beer and guns and head to hunting camp or take a road trip to the southern tier where the deer are plentiful.

Me? I don’t get it. I’ve shot a gun before. I’ve shot quite a few, actually, but never at living things. Only cans and skeet. And I will tell you that it is exciting–thrilling to hold a gun in your hand and pull the trigger and hit something. There is a power in it.

It’s also really fucking scary.

I remember the first time I held a gun. What I felt was similar to what I feel on tall buildings where I have the power to stand still or jump. It is the strength of destruction and it is consuming.

It took a while, minutes, before I felt calm enough to squeeze the trigger. And then there was no stopping me. It turns out I was something of a natural. This was not something I expected or welcomed.

The man who taught me how to shoot a gun told me this: “Never pull a gun on someone unless you are prepared to use it.” That was one of his cardinal rules. It was a surprise, then, that only a year or so after he said this, he stood before me and put a gun in my face.

I do not like guns.