Spring Has Sprung--Then She's Gone Into Hiding Again

What a glorious day Saturday was! My neice contacted me to share her tickets to see the Dalai Lama in the afternoon, which was a hard thing to turn down. Why would I turn down this rare opportunity to witness such greatness? My unselfish nature, I guess. My partner Shayne has been a follower (and reader) with much more fervor than I've been and so I thought it only fitting to pass the offer on to him. A lame analogy would be to use my old REM standard. When REM became all the rage with their Automatic For the People CD, I had to fight an element of bitterness at all the pruported "fans" suddenly turning out in droves for them. After all, I'd been a fan since way back in their college radio days, back in the days of "Radio Free Europe" and "Murmur" (back when no one could understand a word that Michael Stipe was...well, murmuring). And so out of recognition that "he who hath loved longest should receive the love most purely", I gave up my seat way in the back of Quest Field. Instead, I basked in the sun and pulled weeds, planted starts and listened to Verve jazz remix all afternoon (oh, there was a little league game in there and a late arrival to a birthday party).

On Sunday, I nearly had an aneurism reading the paper. I read a review of Tobias Wolff's new collection of short stories, (picture above) a book that I had pre-ordered months before its release and have been coveting ever since receiving it, putting off opening it until I finish my new Mary Roach book. I look at Wolff's book like Charlie Bucket opening that final Wonka bar, peeling it just slightly, savoring the wonder and excitement of a one-of-kind treasure. There are very few writers that I re-read, whose writing I take in like rolling fine wine over my tongue. Steinbeck, Hemingway Edward P. Jones, Tobias Wolff (and I wouldn't even place them in that order). I e-mailed Mr. Wolff some months ago, as I was mired in the final editorial revisions of my own book. I wanted to thank him for being such an inspiration to me as a writer (and for providing such joy as a reader) and he was gracious enough to send a very thoughtful reply. And now I see that he is coming to Seattle for a reading and I will be able to meet him at long last. It's hard to put into words without sounding like a crazed stalker-fan, but I remember the incredible impact his book, "This Boy's Life" had on me at first reading--a fellow northewesterner, a young boy dealing with a maniacal stepfather--it was incredibly moving. From then I discovered his sublime, complex fiction storytelling and can recall specific moments (backpacking through Thailand while reading "In Pharoh's Army", camping in Costa Rica with "The Night in Question", sharing "The Barracks Thief" with my newly teenaged son) when his writing carried me away. Even this last week, when I was in Minnesota for my own book tour and I was caught in a horizonal driving snow, I couldn't help but think of the cold that enveloped me when I read his dark, frustrating, are the guys completely clueless? short story, "Hunters in the Snow."

Can't wait.