I’ve written anything much less sent it out and had it accepted and published. But stranger things have happened and I expect they will continue to do so. I love the name of USF’s literary journal, Invisible City. That was part of the reason I submitted there — it sounded like the perfect home for a piece called “Atmospheric River.” The staff was incredibly sweet and enthusiastic, the editors thoughtful and kind (much kinder than me as my own editor). Plus, they organized a Zoom call for all the authors who published in that issue to do a reading. What a beautiful sense of community they created. If you have a minute, please visit their website. Not just to read my piece but to poke around and find other treasures. https://www.invisiblecitylit.com/fiction/
This is a photo of Margaret Cleave’s loupe. She left it to me, along with a silver fox stole that I wore once in a performance for acting class. I was terrible at acting and terrified on stage, but I stroked the fox stole and recited a piece that had something to do with celebrating farts. It was written by Henry Miller, whose middle name I just learned was “Valentine” as I am writing this now. I used to live on Valentine Street. Margaret Cleave was my boss and mentor when I worked at Virgin Vision, my first real job in L.A. She was beautiful and scary-smart and had a temper and taught me about pixels and light and let me mess up and promoted me anyway. I kept the stole in a big glass jar for a long while, a beautiful jar of fur, but I had to get rid of it when little bugs started rising up from the jar in great swirls. I still have the loupe, which I set out on my desk when I learned Margaret died earlier this year.
