Where am I?
I am in my house in the middle of a raging pandemic. I am freaked out and stressed, but also completely fine. A few weeks ago, I bought an AeroGarden, an indoor hydroponic herb garden. Now it overflows with fresh herbs that have never known adversity — not the slightest breeze or raindrop. Basil that’s never been battle tested. Dill that’s never been doomed. Thyme that’s never been tortured by a blistering storm. Man, this quarantine.
Three weeks ago, which was three years ago in Pandemic Time, I was in Disney World. The virus loomed, somewhere far away as my kids licked handrails and got all up in aerosol-mist distance of the sweaty mascots. God, that was weird. Now it all seems so weird.
Also weird: I was on television last week. The literary magazine I started, Taco Bell Quarterly, got popular. It’s been on Literary Hub, Boing Boing, AV Club, New York Post, and WGN-Chicago.
So if you’ve been following my blog for the last decade plus, here is my stupid face, muppet voice with a Baltimore accent, and complete astoundment that I am talking about Taco Bell Literature while a photograph of a taco in snow sludge is on the television. What have I wrought into this strange world?
Some exciting stuff is happening with my own writing and book, but I don’t want to share too much right now. You might recall that my first collection was set to come out with a small press in the distant future. That’s off the table now as I wind up to take a bigger shot.
I also had a piece published over at Hobart Pulp called Family Fun Center.
So yeah. That’s where I am. I’ll write more. I’ll take over. I’ll reach the top. I’ll grow basil and parsley. From here.