This morning I had my first interview related to The Juliet Stories. Because the book is so new, because I am not a workshopping writer, because these words have really only been read by my agent and by editors up to this point, I am awfully terribly anxiously hungry for responses. The interview was an early response, a hint at what might come.
And it was a kind response, and a generous one, and I am grateful.
Writers don’t get to tell readers how to read the book; that’s not part of the deal. But I can’t help wanting to hear — to understand — how it’s met a reader. What happened at that intersection. How the words were received.
Walking home, I passed this empty lot not far from my house. I saw how much sky there was over the lot, and how blue and clear it was. I don’t often carry my camera outside with me. I wonder, will I see this empty lot differently for having seen it through my lens?
Over the past few nights and mornings I’ve watched the moon wax to fullness and begin to wane. In the evening, it stares in the back window of my office as it rises. It is setting as I drive to wherever that morning’s exercise is occurring. I get to see the same moon twice, on different days. It’s felt like an odd little miracle.
I’m not pulling my thoughts together this afternoon. I’m just writing them down.
And in that vein of randomness, good news to share: Yesterday, my sports doctor cleared me to start running again. Slowly. And in very small doses. I would have high-fived him but he was too busy impressing on me how short short is: ten to fifteen minutes, three times a week. Now that’s short. I’m planning my first run tonight, during goalie practice. I will wear a watch. I promise not to push it. I can’t promise not to high-five anyone who crosses my path during those fifteen minutes, however. You’ve been warned.