Tag: Phoebe Wilcox

Miscellaneous Grief

Went to an open mic last night, bitched about my uncle being kinda famous. I read two poems. A guy from WDVR offered to have me come on his radio talk show and talk about my book. I told him when the new one comes out I will. I did manage 4 hours of writing yesterday. My friend video recorded me reading the poems, and maybe I’ll upload them at some point, but neither poems is published yet. And next time I read, I’ll make more of an effort as to my appearance!–I’ll wash my hair! I don’t think I’ll ever be a drunk because I purposefully didn’t finish my drink.

I decided to include these videos in this post because Mom had suggested these songs for Uncle Michael’s memorial, but it ended up being mostly live music with people playing Michael Hurley music or contributing other stuff. Mom recited a lullaby that Nanna used to sing to them, but I don’t think she actually identified it as such.

Morning

My Dad’s book, Waiting for an Army to Die, is archived at the Library of Congress. I just discovered that the other day. My sister said she already knew. I should visit that library sometime. It’s not so far from home.

Working on the slideshow for my uncle’s memorial. There is a memorial for the public on May 4th at Cherry Sprout Park in Portland. The slideshow is for the indoor family/friends one. A friend of Uncle Michael’s said Cherry Sprout Park is small and will probably be crowded. I can’t wait for family to start arriving. I’m actually pretty homesick.

Been wondering if I should burn all my journals. I haven’t kept a paper journal in years, but I do have over a hundred. I’d have to cull through for any decent literature first and what God-awful mud-slogging that would be! The leeches! The sweat! The poisonous snakes! I know I don’t want to remember it all, but to burn indiscriminately would lead to waste.

Walk in Astoria

Last night I went to a brewery to hear my uncle’s music played. A tribute. I left and went on a walk for most of the first set. Mom said I missed the adorable kids dancing. I guess it’s ok. It would have reminded me too much of myself back in the day. Instead. I walked to the Columbia River, which was very close by. There were mossy pilings and a big boat nicely equipped with nautical things of which I am clueless. Uncle Michael probably has cute little boats embossed on his DNA, but if he needed a model for a a wolf sea vessel, he had it here in Astoria. Next, I turned around, found the steepest street in sight, and walked up it. I called my Dad on the way. We talked about how when Dad would run into Uncle Michael in the park in NYC when they were young, he always reminded him of a lizard, so relaxed, lounging in the sun. We also talked about the state of the country. And Finland and saunas and happiness. Life is fleeting.

Snark

I willfully drove to to the courthouse in Astoria today. After 26 years a bureaucrat, I always feel a sort of kindred connection with those behind the plexiglass. Snark is the name of my deceased uncle’s car. Michael Hurley, if people want to look him up. The car has squishy brakes and loose steering and it stalls sometimes and it’s a gas hog. He could’ve had a sweet purring Prius but he chose a Dodge Snark. I understand.

Let me tell you the story about how my first novel Angels Carry the Sun came to be published. Sometime around 2008 I joined a writers’ group in Lambertville, NJ, lead by the poet, Judith Lawrence. Judith was also the editor of a literary magazine called the River Poets Journal. We had monthly (on the full moon, I believe) open-mic events at (of course) The Full Moon Cafe. It was wonderful because these open-mic events were writer-centered, and often packed. For a small fee we’d get hors d’oeuvres, good company, and entertainment! We would vote on the best reading of the night and the winners would win the prize of a great fuss–and once in a blue moon even money (I once won $50). During this beautiful hobnobbing era, I was also trying to find an agent for Angels Carry the Sun. This was pre-internet and I was using the Writers Market Guide. Big heavy tome which lead to one polite yet supportive rejection. I set aside my search. One day, when I’d invited Judith to lunch for the first time (I loved her poetry and wanted her in my friendship circle), I was utterly surprised when she offered to publish my novel. She asked how I was doing in finding an agent, and when I said that it wasn’t going that well, she said, “Well, if they’re too stupid. . . I would love to do it.” And that was THAT! All I remember after that was screaming with joy as I drove home. It was truly one of the happiest days of my life–the answer to a lifetime of labor and wishing! Later, Judith nominated the book for the PEN/Faulkner Award. We both worked very hard on the whole endeavor and in the end sold 2400 books. It wasn’t nationally distributed, but it did very well, considering. We didn’t have major media attention or machinery behind it. It was a magical time in my life.