Tuesday, September 18, 2007


Louis gave me the copy of his book he uses for readings to reference his "readings system."

He brackets the passages in the book he will read aloud. At the end of each passage he writes in the page number for what he will read next. He pencils in transitions. The slips of paper you see stuck in the book have prompts for what he will talk about at that point, and on each of those pieces of paper he writes the page number where they belong in case he drops the book and all of the pieces of paper go flying free. I'll give it a try.

My glasses broke last night. My prescription glasses. I imagine I could get by with cheaters, but the Helmi (Helmus and Helmus, our eyedoctors) say they think they can repair the things by tomorrow, considering the situation.

We received a package of information from the South Dakota Book Festival. Lots of information (very exciting) but no hotel room listed where it was supposed to be...and Sam will be along with us and there wasn't a ticket for him for the Literary Feast. I figured we'd buy one if we could get one at all at this late date. Elizabeth, the magical publicist took care of it all.

The feast is featuring readings by Ivan Doig, David Laskin, my fellow panelist Nyla Griffith and Cathie Draine, among others. When I lived in Sundance my 2nd grade teacher was Sylvia Draine. She was still teaching when I came to Sundance to teach school myself. One day in the teacher's lounge, the air blue with smoke (at least half the teacher's smoked at the time) Sylvia Draine and Mrs. Ripley (another one of my grade school teachers) looked at me approvingly. Mrs. Draine said, "She certainly has turned out well, hasn't she?" I glowed. Then either Mrs. Draine or Mrs. Ripley, apparently remembering my lackluster grade school years, said, "I certainly didn't see it in her." and the other concurred.

I wonder if Cathie Draine is a relative of the indomitable Sylvia. I will have to google and see what I can come up with.

I am thinking of clothes, of packing. Not only for the festival, but for the ranch the four days before. Jeans, jeans, jeans and some unwrinkleable black items...skirt, shirts, the like. Melissa gave me a great pair of black shoes and Carol is lending me her boots, which seem to be one of two pairs of boots in the universe that have ever fit me. I feel like a bride- something borrowed, something black. Bride of Frankenstein I guess.

I am now a fully fledged member of the Western Writers of America. Got a welcome today.

No comments: