somewhere there's a place for us

Margaret Atwood. It's a caddish person who says definitive things about other people's souls, especially people they don't know, but I kind of feel like she's just showing off with "The Blind Assassin." Like, "Oh, hi, so you're trying to write ONE novel? How...droll. Me? Yes. I've written quite a few novels. In fact, this one...technically it's THREE novels in ONE." Then she sits back all smug and offers you some more coffee and you want to hate her but she's so much nicer than Ursula K. LeGuin and she is offering you more coffee and it is her house. So, really, you can't throw the coffee in her face and stab her with a kitchen knife and run screaming down the alder-bordered lane. Much as you might like to.

A sort-of-friend here told me Tom Stoppard is aggravating because every line the man writes is perfect and incorruptible. True statement. I replied with something I now suspect was propaganda shoved down my throat by my otherwise wonderful jazz guitar teacher: "But isn't it exciting that such beauty exists in the world? That there's something to aspire to?" My friend, who is also a writer and far more productive than I am, stared at me blankly and then sighed. "No, Katie, it's depressing." And, while re-reading "The Blind Assassin" yesterday, I know what he means. I love Margaret Atwood for what she's done. I also kind of hate her.

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People who drink beer and talk to themselves should find somewhere else to hang out. Also, the girl who keeps cracking up outside. MOST ANNOYING LAUGH. Like a mosquito whine except louder and more like a bark. I refuse to believe the guy she's with is that hilarious so what's she laughing about? He looks like he isn't doing much except waggling his eyebrows. Maybe that sets her off. He looks completely cowed by this girl, though, nervous that any second she's going to take her purple-painted nails, cigarette and trendy grandma sweater and disappear out of his life forever to start dating a bartender. Rough roads, honey. It makes me think of the Disney Peter Pan when Wendy's sewing Peter's shadow onto his feet and jabbering away, oblivious and cracking herself up and Peter's baffled. He doesn't even need to be there except as a sort of marker to direct the flow of words toward. Scratching his head, he says, "Girls talk too much." And chuckle-face Wendy says, "Hahaha, yes, girls talk too much...hmmmmm? ...Oh."

Good job, Peter.

Actually, the conversation outside isn't like that at all. What was I thinking?

Laughs, like exclamation points, should be used sparingly otherwise we get confused. Smile too much and people wonder what you're worried about. Dogs might smile because they're happy to see you but chimpanzees smile to show you their teeth. It's a hostile display. BACK OFF. Hence the term "She laughed off the suggestion that she was the one who killed the puppies and sent those nasty, insinuating letters to the city councilman."

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In newspaperland, I'm feeling a little worn out. But I'm going to laugh that off.

Currently working on a series about domestic violence in Clatsop County.

Here's the first installment

Here's a stabbing.