After a fairly dry spell we've had about a day and a half of nonstop rain and it feels as though after the initial shock--crabby co-workers, interstate crashes and neighborhood power blips--it feels as though Seattle has relaxed into its damp, soggy self. Yeahhhh.
At the farmer's market this morning my friend Pat valiantly cooked up Burmese squash curry and talked about her new cookbook. The lady at the Appel cheese stand told me if she stood in exactly this spot she wouldn't get wet. Not even a sagging rain-filled canopy could deter my favorite plum seller from Eastern Washington, a brunette Betty White who handed me samples of Japanese apples and sent me off with a pound of juicy Italian prunes. Traffic lights were out as I walked on, but cars skimmed easily by on the hissing streets.
Honestly, it's my favorite kind of day. Mild, damp, the filtered light making everyone look like extras in a Wim Wenders movie. I sloshed up the final hill, the sidewalk carpeted with leaves too freshly-fallen to have turned to mush yet, some red-gold, others outrageously vibrant yellow, all studded with glittering rain drops.
There's a shadow constantly hovering at my shoulder. For all my gallivanting into the social whirl, nevermind the positive social media...
Ever wondered what it takes to get a piece of fiction published? I'm not talking New Yorker type of prose. That's a rarefied world ...
Check out my new video, a brief reading from a story published this past spring in Opossum.
Welp, after a half-year experiment in social media, BSP has returned to its blogger roots. I hated Faceborkland, tbh. Sure, it was easier t...