being home is good. feel kind of like a moron a lot. had a good time out west though. saw some people i'd known a long time and never met, relaxed, ate food, ate mexican food every day but one, played live cards for the first time in more than a year and won $, spent $ at powell's which was a very nice store, spent 4 hours at city lights and bought nothing on purpose, had a car campout, petted simmons's cat who i liked even though i couldn't breathe him, talked some, slept some, didn't drink that much, liked the west coast feel.
jamie blogged about an odd thing that happened on our flight to san francisco.
i probably won't be going anywhere for a while.
while i was out Molly Templeton wrote a review of Scorch Atlas for the Eugene Weekly that is very excellent and kind indeed: "I think I fear it — its relentless and overwhelming vision, and the power Butler has to drill a hole in my chest with language. But Butler’s strange masterpiece doesn’t ask for your love. It demands your attention."
Nicolle Elizabeth wrote a review for The Brooklyn Rail that is also very kind: "Performing as an ashen, crumbling work in our hands, the work urges us to push forward before it—and we—turn to dust."
having returned home i am on a new regimen. no drinking, except special occasions, which was pretty much true anyway. running 7 miles at least 4 days a week and 3.5 miles the other three days. reading a lot. putting final edits on this novel, very close i think. more sleep book work and beginning a collaborative project that is very exciting and that will stay quiet for now, except to say it is with two people i admire massively.
something something fuck it