"I know," I said. "I was home writing."
He smiled and took a swallow of Yuengling. I sipped ice water and glanced around the bar. Scully's is pretty empty on a Friday afternoon. "I'm telling you, man," he said. "You should have been there."
Saturday evening I visited the home of The Indie and The Traveling Bonfires for a casual editorial meeting. The Indie has stubbornly survived in the Asheville publishing market by presenting an authentic "open mic" monthly magazine. The editor is now making a very bold move and offering The Indie as a bimonthly publication. The meeting spilled over to a Malaprop's poetry reading which I had been invited to, but hadn't checked my e-mail in a day or two and missed the fact that I was scheduled to read. So I was a bit unprepared (I wore a really old pair of jeans and an even older red flannel shirt that pre-dated the gunge invasion and I hadn't shaved in a week making me look--as my wife said--like Grizzly Adams). Fortunately, I was the final reader which gave me time to flip through my notebooks in search of appropriate reading material. The poets included:
For a Saturday night, the café was well attended. I closed the event by reading a couple poems recently published at the Southern Cross Review (an "e-review of literature, education, science, current events and Anthroposophy") and four new poems written in the last two months (but have yet to be published--this is a shameless BIG HINT to poetry publishers who may be reading this post). After the reading I hung out with a few people and discussed poetry, reality, time and space, art and other such topics of interest until the staff of Malaprop's asked us to leave.
Later that night I wandered into the Joli Rogers for a brief appearance at the Asheville blogger gathering.