Winter, spring, Alaska, Oakland (kinda rhymes…)
Well, it’s been a wee bit. My apologies for that. I’m just now emerging from the cave of rewriting the book. What a strange place to be for six months. Now the manuscript is with the editor. What a strange, harrowing process. For those of you who read earlier versions of “The Alaskan Laundry,” there is no more Santo, no more Cuban-come-to-Alaska. The novel began with eight main characters. It sold with two. Now it’s just Tara. A war of attrition, to be sure. She’s starting to scare me. It’s like, settle down girl, I created you. She doesn’t care. She does what she wants.
I spent most of December in Sitka. Jackie Fernandez continues to hold down the Adak, with all her WonderWoman abilities, circsawing up palettes, keeping the wine key where it belongs, seasoning her cast-iron pots to perfection. She is truly an inspiration. We had a magical Christmas – cutting down a tree from the woods, enjoying snow on the docks, having folks chez Adak for warmth and eggnog. I went out with Rick Petersen, and got four bucks off the beach, now in my freezer. Well, about half of one is in my freezer, because that was all I could bring back to Oakland. Rest is chez Rick. Although I did manage to package up liver and tongue and heart, which went into the Oakland Burns Supper haggis. Why no blacktail stomach, you ask? Well, that seems to be something that should only be in Sitka. Burns Supper here at Lake Merritt was a wondrous thing, going on to the small hours, with Stegners & friends coming up with brilliant poetry (surprise surprise) and speeches. While they might not drink as much Scotch as Alaskans – read my buddy Xander – we had a grand night, full of cheer and guitar and deer entrails.
Then it was the months of writing in Oakland, again and again going over the manuscript. I’ve been given a fall 2015 publication date – exciting, because it’s a good time for sales – but so far away! It’s a slow game, that’s what I’m coming to realize. Patience has never been a great virtue of mine.
I worry about the boat, my baby. And I think Cal misses Alaska. We get up to the Marin Headlands – a magical, tick-infested land – when we can, but it’s not the same.That said, Cal still gets to play his favorite game, chasing the ravens, as you can see here. And we take trips. Here we are in Portland, on the way to the FisherPoets conference in Astoria, Oregon. To this day I can’t tell if Cal likes skiff rides or not. This one I think he liked. It was on the “Epilogue,” skiff of my good buddy and fellow writer Chris Bernard, author of the acclaimed “Chasing Alaska,” which you should check out if you haven’t already. Chris built this boat with his own two hands. We spent a fine day on the Willamette River, drinking sugary bourbon and dodging deadheads. I didn’t have my Tuffs, and was a little ticked off and self-conscious, but CB didn’t give me a hard time.
Most of spring break at Stanford was spent up in Alaska. I did a reading in Anchorage – trust me, there are people there, despite what it looks like… Afterward headed in the snow down to the Kenai Peninsula where where I had the great fortune to get to bunk up with Alaska writer Tom Kizzia – if you haven’t read “Pilgrim’s Wilderness,” that’s another kickass book you should put on your nightstand. We cross-country skied out to Tom’s cabin, where he raised his kids, and I got to see a cabin where John Haines once stayed – pitter-patter went my heart. Also hit the famed Salty Dawg, where Tom rang the bell for all six of us in there, including a dude filming for the Discovery Channel whose job it was to capture sunsets for the Kiltridge Family show, or however you spell it. He gave us an earful about how many houses get edited out of the tape. A little bit disturbing. Definitely not “reality” TV. He showed me a pic of a sunset on his IPhone and I tried to get him to send it to me so I could pretend I took it and post it on FB but he wasn’t game.
Got brisket at the general store in town which tripled as the post office and DVD rental place – ah I miss Alaska.Then back to Anchorage, to roast a pig’s head and walk along the bluffs, two things that somehow went hand-in-hand. Have you ever made headcheese? Oh, now that I think on it, the pig’s head was roasted and the bluffs were hiked before the trip to Homer with Missy and Sam – who hosted me so generously. I remember now because I brought headcheese to Tom’s as a housewarming gift, and no one liked it. In fact, he sent the headcheese BACK with me to Anchorage. Ah well. I thought it was good.
In any case, I did end up in Ted Stevens airport, half-drunk at midnight after drinks at the Long Branch saloon with novelist Don Rearden, waiting for a red-eye to Reno, staring for WAY too long at the pretty ceiling. And then back to Oakland, and sweet my sweet doggie. Tomorrow workshop begins once more. I’ve been working on a piece contemplating whether Alaska is experiencing a literary renaissance, and also on a short story about I don’t want to say because I think it’s going pretty well and don’t want to jinx it. And – hopefully – more blog posts, now that the manuscript is in the able hands of Jenna. I’m thankful for that, and – as evidenced, I hope, above – for so, so much more. Thank you all for reading – look forward to being in touch personally down the line, now that the heavy work on the book is done.
