I'm getting laser-eye surgery tomorrow. Will it make me a better writer? Probably not in any immediate sense, but if it does even HALF of what invisaligns did for my confidence 5 years ago, then look the fuck out, world.
I got about half-way through Grasshopper Dreaming today on my luxurious "Rapid" bus commute. It's almost a straight shot from a Park-n-Ride that's not too far from my folks' place. It's more expensive than the lightrail but it is a 35 minute straight shot, no stops. The reading is downright luxurious--and it's quiet! Because it's more expensive, these riders are more like the commuter train riders back east. They read the paper or a paperback or they doze or they talk in low tones to each other.
Compare this to yesterday's lightrail convo, which was shouted, since the two speakers were on opposite ends of the car.
"Hey man, where you been?"
"Home man, hadda take Cheryl to the hospital last week. Her fuckin ovary dissolved."
Anyway, I was reading this book on the bus. It was written by the guy who will be leading my first graduate nonfiction workshop (in less than TWO! MONTHS!). He's an entomologist and much of the book is about his moral struggle over loving grasshoppers but having the job of killing them (integrated pest management). He used a great analogy: he's like the guy who tries to design a more humane electric chair. It's good for me, because I was just going off the other day about how people can't just hang out in the middle in the hopes of not taking an unpopular opinion--except Lockwood's in the middle and (likely) some of his views are unpopular to both sides.
I need to submit the hummingbirds, but I'm stalling. I'm hoping a name will come to me tomorrow while I am staring down a laser that's burning my eyes into more useful shapes. Also, that troublesome Demand article? Totally accepted. Ka-ching, baby!