This past weekend forged new seams in my true and creative self.
Friday was a trip across the lake and a bemusing lesson in culture clash, diffidence, guns, fast cars, and sleazy clubs. Not what I had in mind, but ultimately, merci.
Howevah, I also got to chat with longtime favorite solace wonder at bherd gallery, and pick up a wounded heart for a song.
On Saturday I played lackey on a photo shoot for an upcoming album cover, and learned new ways of encouraging lovely, glamorous light. After a shuffleboard/beer break, I brainstormed press release wording with a generous gold-knuckled artist for an upcoming benefit.
Evening brought scrubbing and baseball card chat at another friend's soon-to-be-vacated apartment, and later a birthday party filled with an energetic, sometimes frenetic melange of dancers and old souls. A white-bearded meditator asked me what was stopping me from opening up my heart. I knew. But for a moment, I couldn't speak.
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...