Jill Malone

We arrived at the Lambda Literary Awards just in time to find out that I’d lost. But it was a hell of a show, and quite a trip.  In other curious news: my new book, A Field Guide to Deception, has been postponed until October.  Why is this? Well, August is a lousy release date, and October is significantly better—fall and spring release dates are ideal if you can manage them.  And Bywater Books has now contracted with Michele Karlsberg to handle the press’s publicity.  This is a huge deal.  Michele Karlsberg’s clients include Dorothy Allison and Kate Clinton to name a couple.  And the idea is to give adequate time to publicize the new book—get blurbs, and an ARC, and hopefully some reviews.   

All in all, not the trip I expected, but one that I enjoyed.  My editor and I even took a carriage ride through Central Park, which was mad touristy, and really pleasant.   

A little more sleep, and a visit to the watch repair shop, and I’ll be an entirely new girl.  Or anyway, much more like the old one.

Shelly asked for a poem, so here’s one I wrote for my graduate thesis.

Express

On a train to anywhere.  I run from the water and the haunting shriek

children make in the sunlight.  Past my picture window

summer days slip like cinders, hover in the piped wail

from the conductor’s fist.  Bass-toned, the carriage sways, pitches.

My ears ache with the empty motions after love:  whistles,

tickets, luggage, the engine’s relentless drone.  Windows crowded

with bright shapes—farm lands, bicycles,

blue-suited businessmen—safe beyond the glass.

How much distance

to leave you?

These countries squeeze and extend like a brilliant accordion.

My eyes close

on your shadow.  This train says tomorrow and hurls me forward.

Your voice can’t catch me.  Stretch and pull, but your arms won’t reach

through the waves and the glaring white.

Is there a Bermuda Triangle of broken stuff too?  I have two broken shoelaces, and a watch at the repair shop that won’t be fixed for two weeks. (Two weeks without my watch is not OK. I shower and sleep with my watch on.  I check it nonstop. It’s like my pulse with the sweeping hand and the constancy.)

I am so psyched about this quick hop to New York for the Lambda Literary Awards Ceremony that I can’t seem to focus on things like reading and writing.  I’ve watched the entire first season of True Blood on DVD, and the Daniel Craig Bond films.  I’ve busted out pushups and sit-ups, although, I’ll never get my nineteen-year-old body back, and that’s just the bitter truth.  I’ve worried about black shoes.  How do I not have a comfortable pair of formal black shoes?  Don’t all grownups have a comfortable pair of formal black shoes?

I ate the first watermelon and cantaloupe of the season and they were spectacular.  Give myself a break, right?  Take it easy and enjoy this.  I haven’t been to New York in a decade.  The last time I went, I’d just graduated from the MFA program.  I was a child.  Twenty-four and kind of a bastard.  Certain of everything.  

This is better.  Now is better.  Even without my watch.  I’ll probably be fine.  They have clocks everywhere.  And other people have watches.  I’ll just sneak glances at theirs.