Brief Bit of Anthology News...

 It's now titled "Covid, Isolation, and Hope: Artists Respond To The Pandemic" and will be out in the fall or winter.(Paul Buchman Voice) Dig me, I'm an artist!(/Buchman Voice)

Best of all, when we have virtual readings, thanks to the new camera, I shouldn't need my brother's help anymore. Which is better for everyone.
UPDATE:
This isn't the one, but I wrote an account of my immunization...a section from the middle because I show you so many beginnings.

The drugstore held the most strangers she’d seen in months, from the patient Asian grandma in line with them to the young couples running in and out to buy junk food in their sunglasses.  Even though the store is at reduced capacity, so much so that people fear a line to get in, just not being separated by the bubble of a videoconference makes it feel teeming with life. Everything was interesting, from some inexpensive and bright Easter bouquets to some variations on store cookies she’d never noticed. It felt sad to get excited about store chocolate-chip cookies, even with added peanut butter flavor, but there she was. Maybe instead of permeating us with ads, she thought, maybe they should be quiet for a while and bore us into wanting more than we have. It was the kind of concept that made her think she should sit up in bed and document it, for her blog if nothing else, but that’s why the daughter’s room was covered with little sheets torn from message pads with roses or cornucopias that said things like “ADS-Boring?” and were no help the next day.

When the line moved, and the line moved forward, the daughter felt almost as though she’d been elected mayor of CVS. The moment didn’t last, because the line didn’t move again for another twenty minutes. The daughter watched two foreign guys bond over the features on their smartphones, and, far more than was sensible at her age, she imagined that one would catch her eye and sparks might ensue, despite all the times and places where they never did: the movie lines where she

the movie lines where she dropped her ticket and someone picked it up, the chats in the bookstore or library…if life were a movie, she’d be married many times. (maybe once in this drugstore, to celebrate how they met)

The line moved forward and she thought she might want a smartphone more than a husband, although both could be equally hard to get her hands around, if she was absolutely honest.
For the millionth time, she thought if she scripted the moment she got the shot, it would be more vivid.  Maybe there would be a musical (ta-dah!) flourish, or the stuff inside the injection would glow, like on a science show. Maybe she and her mother would share medical memories, like the characters on the daughter’s guilty-pleasure dramas.

UPDATE: One of the editors, Consuelo, got back to me about pub date and when preorders start.

We are pleased to finally have dates for you for the anthology, Covid, Isolation and Hope: Artists Respond to the Pandemic! The online presales for the book begin Monday, October 25, 2021, and will continue through, Friday, December 31, 2021. The anthology is scheduled for publication on Friday, February 25, 2022. 

 

We’re confirming venues to have readings scheduled starting the week of October 25, 2021, and will advise you of any/all dates, times, and locations.

 

 

Rachel made it seem easy...

on Friday's show ,but it's harder than you think to leave comments to protect the USPS.Postal Review Commission has a site to leave comments...but after I opened an account I found out I can't make PDFs on my computer...should I pay for Adobe?(If you can leave a PDF comment, please do.) 

UPDATE: Dear friend K taught me to find Export in the "Print To" menu on Firefox. Yay, except the account logged me out, I guess? So I'm all PDF'fed with noplace to go.

E-mailed Tech Support.

(this should be simpler, even if it does mean having to wade through the occasional comment attributed to Bilbo Baggins or whoever.  You know?)

SECOND UPDATE: Keep trying till you get a person...the tech people at PRC are friendly and knowledgeable and make me feel sad there are people who use "federal bureaucrat" as a vile curse. If I hadn't started this on an evening one time and a holiday another time, I wouldn't have had to ponder expensive software, read tech forums I didn't understand, or bug my friends(Although K should be used to it by now!) Comment period ends 6/11...let 'em know what you think!

FutureFest Part 2

 I hope the disability content didn't get this rejected.

hideousness with gratitude; years of work have brought me here.

“Hey,” Sangit’s low-key voice over my phone was equal parts relief and frustration.  “What’s up? I’m guessing the update I put in yesterday isn’t going well?”

I wished I’d used some of my skills to learn how to punch a good friend through the phone. I made a fist with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone and halfway wished he could see it. Instead, I smiled wryly, “I guess you could say that.” At least, the nausea was receding, replaced with a papery parchedness. I drained what was left in my water bottle, but my head still wasn’t clear.

“Oh, don’t let it get you down…we’ve come such a long way.” Sanjit soothed. Vaguely, I thought, if I were going to die, maybe I should Tell him that the reason his voice cheered me up had little to do with his motivational skills. Surely being dead would blow up the partnership more than being lovelorn. Still, even if my equipment kept working, dating me was not like picking up the carefree young girls my partner favored during his rare hours off.

“Sometimes it doesn’t seem that way,” I said, deciding to save more heartfelt disclosures for another day.

I couldn’t decide how much it bothered me that he laughed. He had a great laugh, but my sense of humor was at a low ebb like my energy, but he said “Remember when we tried that prototype on your mother and she thought she was in Downton Abbey?”

“Watching her curtsy to a mop was pretty funny,” I admitted, though it felt like a lifetime ago, rather than eleven months. The hotel lobby was filling up; thanks to my obsessive punctuality, I had extra time to navigate without considering other conventioneers. I saw a few people I knew, but the moment I finished speaking to them, I couldn’t remember what we talked about.  “Good to see you again!” I tried to put a lot of energy in, but it felt hollow.  Maybe everyone was doing the same, except for some recent grad who was high off the per diem and getting away from some small town.  I wished I could be her again.  I could get through all this on Red Bull and ambition in those days. Not knowing what was coming meant I faced more situations without fear. As the sweat on my forehead dried, I pretended that my brain had a sort of closet that I could shove my fear and doubt into. The imaginary door stayed closed, but just barely.

“I’m hanging up now,” Sanjit said, like the cool babysitter forced to finally lay down the law. “Remember, you’ve got this.” He paused, and I heard him swallow. Was he having lunch? The man  I imagined him to be would be on tenterhooks with me, I fumed irrationally.  “Worse comes to worse, we can uninstall it and try again…I could do it remotely if I had to.”

“No!” my voice came out in a thwarted teenage squeal that I had to bring years of maturity to.  “No, I mean, I think we won’t have to face that.”

“Good.” My partner sounded relieved. “Let me hear how much you’ve got this, then.”

I stuck out my chin and took a deep-enough breath to flirt with a wardrobe malfunction. I looked up as if daring strangers to take my ideas