That's right, I'm back from the brink. I had a wonderful time. There were a lot of enthusiastic book lovers at the conference, and I was made to feel very welcome by all the people I met. I hung out with some nice writers, too. J. Wes Yoder and I discovered that we both love Truffaut and Godard. I also had a long, pleasant talk with the poet Natasha Trethewey. Both of our last names - Trethewey and Pendarvis - are Cornish. That accounted for just a small percentage of our conversation, which came to a close at the Bama Grill, the only place in Jacksonville, Alabama that stays open past one in the morning. It was earlier in the evening, over drinks with J. Wes and Natasha, when I happened to discover that I am the least well paid writer in America! Less than poets, even. POETS! Poets, who are famous as a group for not being paid very well... indeed, for starving to death in their freezing cold garrets while an indifferent world passes by outside. (This money issue has nothing to do with "On the Brink," by the way, who were very kind to us in that regard. It was just a general topic of the kind that should never, never come up in a bar.) Anyway, it's not about the money. It's about spreading literature throughout the land. Oh yes, another fun fact is that I seem to be the oldest writer in America, too. (Pictured, J. Wes Yoder and Natasha Trethewey, two writers who are younger, richer, thinner, and much better looking than me.)
