Textling #62

Some days better, daubed with cerulean blue, others so bummered that air and atmosphere swag on you. Cold glory – the room as if swathed in coarse white sheets; the shapes of fixtures, body, bed vague in same old snugglehold. Not much to entertain: twinned wilts and rises, breathing’s slapstick linen flips. Plans for Christmas melt, quick as snowballs on a summer’s day. Nice to hatch them though. Or pelt.

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Textling #61

For half an afternoon my words (and my support-worker) pulled me into the world, and so an anxious, exceedingly unwell and often lonely year can finish on a sprightly note. The launch of SUPINELY SUBLIMELY was an astonishing affair – because it happened, because people came, and because obliging library staff delivered a small orange fake leather sofa (much preferred over a camp bed) to curl up on. A goodish version of me sprung from it like Venus from her scallop shell. No ribbons in my hair though.

Fatigue is a recall fiend! By the next day details had evaporated like a dream’s in the moments of waking. Q&A had been lively – that much I knew. Faces flashed, mouths moved; attending speech sank soundlessly. Friends have helped collect clues and a joyous picture is emerging. Responses were thoughtful, delighted, surprised at how I write. There was laughter! And great questions. Want to lodge this in my mind. Much was lost this year, much is mourned; gratifying instances need nudging and nuzzling until retrievably installed in a quiet crumple of one’s brain.

My book is out!

You can buy it here, and, if you’re in the US, here.

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