...and then...

Permanence makes things ... real. Like marriage. Same set up, same arrangement as when you're dating, but the permanence of marriage shifts lovers' mindsets from "oughta" to "gotta." So, I got this tattoo ... It's a feather quill (b/c the experts at Body Ritual were emphatic that the poofy plume idea was stupid. go figure.) marking a lazy, serpentine scribble on the back of my right shoulder. The inkwell (of course, there's an inkwell!) is shaped by the letters of the word "beauty." My oldest daughter described it to my mother, "Mommy's a beeeyotiful writer ..." So, it's official. Gotta get this second book done. The writing is all over my back.

You know that Mapquest is the Devil's plaything, right? Okay. Just wanted to get that out there. Actually, Satan's toy didn't trip me up too badly this time. Just one rural "shortcut" that I could have done without. Otherwise, the drive was fine. My first mini-tour in two years, I visited venues in central Ohio and one in Michigan. My hosts were incredible: Ed Mabrey in Columbus, Grand Rapid's Greg Bliss and his lovely leading lady Carrie, Link in Dayton (and the entire Rustbelt team: Melissa, Cherokee & Gee), and Olafemi and Hakim of Cincinnatie. Incredible. Plus, I've seen a intense growth in my writing and performance over the past year, so it was profoundly gratifying to connect with these audiences in new ways. Now, I wouldn't say that my work has changed , it's just better. Better, from the standpoint that I've --finally-- given myself permission to let loose 100%. I can see now that my best nights, previously, had me wide o...

The short version: I was able to open for Angie Stone last night ... and set the mic on fire! The long version: I know the publisher and editorial staff at Ya Heard Magazine and contacted them all last month about opening their Angie Stone concert. "Yada, yada, get back to you, yada." Their follow-up was "Hey, we'll do a poetry pre-show!" Umm. No? I gave them my unsolicited feedback about why I didn't think that idea was right for this event. "Yada, yada ..." It was a wrap, in my book. I tried, right? Then I get an email around 4 hours before concert time from a sista I know telling me she's looking forward to seeing me at the pre-show party? "Cool, see you there!" I say. Next: "Hello? I'm ... performing ... for you tonight, I hear?" Apologies. Explanations. Directions. Shuffling schedules with husband. Secure babysitter. Pizza Hut instead of teriyaki chicken. Staring into the closet. Pack CDs and children. Race. The pre...

Okay. I was the one who didn't think email would ever catch on; I only have the second generation of Palm Pilots (should I even have that?); I have less than a year under my belt with this text messaging thing; I tried really hard to justify getting the camera phone, but couldn't; and I flat out don't get the point of instant messaging (rings like microwaveable Minute Rice, to me). But here I am. Very much by accident, I called myself "passing through" someone else's blog. Silly me. Oz has spoken many megahertz ago: No one shall pass through anything w/o leaving behind a password or some other promise for future visits. So here I am. Not sure what I'll say on this thing, but, hey, I have a password and a few thoughts rattling around ... ... is this thing on ...? Here I am.