Hermaphrodite Baby

last year i was in contact with a man i'll call Fred, a friend of a friend, who wanted a ghost writer. in our phone interview, he revealed he had been born a hermaphrodite, and had been raised the first several years of his life as a girl. the project never materialized, and we lost touch. recently, i'd tried to email him, but it was returned.

(prior to this, i had finished a novel in which my main character, Robin, is androgynous, and i'd done research into androgyny and ambiguous sexuality/gender.)

a couple weeks ago i had a dream. i was being handed a newborn baby girl, presumably mine. she was wrapped in a towel. as i cleaned her off with a second towel, she spoke. "my name is Karen," she said. "i am a hermaphrodite." the dream made me think i should contact Fred, but i wasn't sure if i had his number.

when i got up i was cleaning my desk drawer and just happened to come across Fred's number. i called it, but it had been disconnected, so i called our mutual friend in Iowa and left her a voice mail that i needed Fred's number.

later that day i gave a postcard with my book cover (a depiction of my birthplace, Seattle) to my chiropractor, i then went to see my acupuncturist who trained in Seattle.

walking home, i saw an acquaintance, Karen, on the walk. a woman walked up to her and said Happy Birthday!

i remembered my dream of a newborn baby named Karen, and got chills. i felt it was a sign to try harder to contact the man who wanted a ghost writer to help him tell his story.

i called my friend in Iowa again and she answered. she hadn't heard my message. i told her the whole story. she had just run into Fred the day before. she had not seen him in ages. he had been in Seattle for six months!!!
i thought it all meant i truly should write this mans story. but i haven't heard a thing from him since. so i don't know what any of it means.

lately, i have been forced to affirm "i am happy to let life remain a mystery."

Squirrel Therapy

easy. you go to the park and watch the baby squirrels. you feel better.

but today the baby squirrels are not out because the lawn was mowed and watered and a big machine dug out those little plugs of earth that look like goose poop. lots of ruckus on your rooftop makes you stay inside and hide. and reminds me that the reason i went to the park for squirrel therapy was to escape the dread fact that my home will soon be having evil-landlord-inspired pounding and drilling deconstruction/reconstruction of wooden staircase just outside my kitchen window where i attempt to write my next novel and though it will most likely be ignored and rejected i still treasure the hope of otherwise.

so no baby squirrels and no feeling better.

except then i saw a blind man tapping along. and how would i describe the honeysuckle flowers if he were to ask me. and i would ask him if he ever had sight. and i would say the flowers are small, one inch long, and they are white but then turn yellow and yellow is the color of warmth, of the sun, and lemons.

Tweetbook and Twitface

so i sent the poem in the previous post to a lot of friends and other people by email. got a lot of nice responses.
one said "you should publish this, seriously." well, i have. on my blog. see?

the cousin (of the friend who is championing my novel) who is nice enough to give me publishing advice by phone, and just got a job a Harper's (OMG) said,"and this is why you should be promoting yourself and get on facebook and twitter." nice compliment!

but ugh. i do NOT want to go on tweetbook and twitface. argh. more machines/instruments of torture/things that utterly defeat me, exasperate me, prove i should have been born in an earlier century!

and how much self-promotion is too much? and, if you wish to publish, does nothing remain private? i am scared enough by blogging! have i already said too much?

A Little Bit

i put a link to my 2nd novel at the top of this page.

it is not a sausage link, nor a lincoln log, or a link in a chain.

it is a link to words and a heart.

or should i start a whole new blog and put my novel in it chapter by chapter?
is that too revealing?

for some reason i keep thinking about the wiener dog at the full moon circle in the very first post.
oh! because of sausage links! some people call wiener dogs sausage dogs!
alexander macall smith does. i checked out three of his books yesterday. he is the best!