Dread

Publication is always a thrilling yet stomach-churning experience for me. I love releasing my work into the wild, but I dread what will happen next. Mostly, I’m waiting to hear from “that guy.” I don’t have a specific “that guy” in mind. He’s more of an archetype; a self-taught scholar who becomes filled with righteous rage whenever a writer doesn’t meet his criteria for good work. See, if the writer doesn’t get a piece exactly right, it’s a slap in the face for “that guy.” Seething in his attic apartment, he hammers out a persnickety e-mail or letter explaining how I failed him.

Then, when I finally sneak up on him and spin his chair around… IT’S ME!

Or Hitler. It varies.

Tired

Up till 2:30; woke up at 6. I was trying to finish my as-yet unmanageable Gapers Block article about the Portage Theater. Circumstances prevailed to prevent me from finishing last night, and I am so very tired. I have Jasper TX’s song “braille” on repeat. I am steeped in the gravy of exhaustion.

“Nobody gets to hear me sing.” Frank Stadic

Finding Parker

I’m heading to Manlius and Princeton, IL, this weekend to see some of the few remaining works of architect Parker Noble Berry, Louis Sullivan’s final draftsman and a promising architect in his own right. Sadly, Berry died at age 30, a victim of the 1918 Spanish Flu. I don’t think his hospital is still standing, but we’ll see.