A couple of weeks ago I had one of my periodic perseverative moments of self-doubt and loathing where I see myself as the perptual odd-ball-out. This book that I’m writing seems to defy genre, which should come as no surprise because so do I. I’d been sitting in a writing class feeling like that waiter in a restaraunt who brings the customer their long-awaited entree only to have the customer poke at his plate with his fork and say: “Too rare. Take it back.”

Boo hoo. Poor me. Will I ever get it right?

I fell asleep tossing and turning only to be worken up by a stack of papers in a lump under my butt. I’m no princess and that was no pea. It was an article about  Colum McCan and Radical Empathy.

“Oh my God!” I said to my pillow, “That’s it! That’s my point. I must go study with that man!” So I hopped in my car and drove to Brooklyn into Berl’s Poetry Shop and voila the next thing I knew I was in a master class with the master and a band of illustrious writers! Stay tuned for the full story tomorrow!