Last night I attended a French gala at the residence of the wildly talented and most stunning Jessica Tremp. Baguettes were saturated in steaming fondue and various triple cream delights; caviar was licked from fingers; twirling occurred to various French tracks within dim candlelight in between courses.
Everyone in attendance was suited up or in a ball gown. We ogled at each other’s stilettos and twisted hairdos into shoulder
exposed French styles. We smoked using a quellazaire in between sipping Moët. Our band of Writers, musicians, photographers, and lovers traded stories and secrets.
It was one of the best nights I’ve ever had. One of the nights where you gaze into the eyes of your beloveds with the unspoken certainty that twenty years from now we’ll still be saying, “Remember French night…”
I was honored this week to have a piece featured in one of my most favorite literary magazines: Short, Fast, and Deadly. My sight is still set on sorting out Poetry: Volume 2 over the coming days.
To be true blog family, I’m a bit boring at the moment. It’s been nearly a month since I interviewed with our friends in New York City. I feel like I’ve been useless since getting back to Oz, because all I do is wait for a phone call… wait for a phone call… wait for a…
Life is peaks and troughs, I get that. And I’m an optimist. So that means somehow in this trough, I’m slowly climbing. I’m off to burn incense and meditate.