Courtney and I had our one year anniversary last weekend, which was really nice. I cooked dinner, pork tenderloin with gingered apples, mashed potatos with rosemary and lemon, and roasted bell peppers with onion and balsamic vinegar. It was tasty, though the tenderloin cooked a little hot and the fire alarm went off. Exciting. I also accepted a position teaching rock climbing at a summer camp in Maine this year, which should be fun. Courtney will be on the other end of the country (Oregon), but we'll work things out. I guess that's about all for now, other than a bit of winter photography.


African-American or Black? An interesting question.
Ok, so I'm getting to be not so good at this. Live is pretty good at the moment, I've picked up playing raquetball, and pretty soon I'll be able to legally set routes at the climbing wall. I'm not acting this semester, but I'll probably still do some tech work. I have 4 literary agents who are interested in seeing more of my work, so that's encouraging. I also have a couple of job offers for this summer, which is a welcome change from last year. Classes are pretty good; I especially like creative writing, which spawned this:

Let me tell you of the time that I hunted the elusive snaggletoothed snark. It all began one night when I was eleven-and-two, all snuggled into my snoogley bed, when my fearless father, Fredrick Francis the Fifth, dug me up from my dreams and clad me in downy clothing. Our boots scrunched and crunched and squeaked as we shuffled out into the cold.
“Come on son,” he whispered, drawing me into the darkness. “Tonight we have to hunt the elusive snaggletoothed snark. It can be conniving and cunning, so we must be careful.” I heeded his words, creeping through the snowy woods, wary of any sounds that snuck into my ears. “Now stay here,” my father told me, hushing his voice. “I will tiptoe around these trees to try to scare out a snark. If he starts snuffling over your way, sack him with this baited bumble bag.”
I seized the sack as I was told, and watched my fearless father tiptoe through the trees.
I waited.
And waited
And waited some more.
But no snark came snuffling through the trees. Sighing, I sat down on a stump, until I began to thunk that the stump stunk. I stood up to look at the stinking stump, and inside I found none other than a snuffling snark snuggling into the stump! I swiftly sacked him with my baited bumble bag, where he wiggled and waggled and snuffled and shuffled. Soon, my fearless father found his way through the forest, and I told him what was in the bumble bag.
“That’s wonderful, my beaming boy.”
“Father, we’re not going to feast on the snaggletoothed snark, are we? For I’ve become quite fond of him,” I said, cinching the bumble bag shut.
“Of course not,” he said in his huffling laugh. “I just must have a snaggletoothed snark for your magnificent mother’s birthday!”
So we set off for home, with one freshly found snaggletoothed snark in our bumble bag.

I named him Sam.


All right, so you've missed a lot. I saw some friends from home for awhile, and then after Christmas with the family I headed off with some friends for Bishop, CA. It was a hell of a trip, we stopped in Reno, climbed a lot, made fire, hurt our hands, saw the best climber in the world, drove 5,000 miles, saw a clown motel, and had a lot of fun.

I'm back in school now, furiously submitting my query and manuscript to agents, getting back into classes, and getting back into the swing of things.

My babysitter from my childhood, Freida, died this weekend. She basically took care of me from infancy until age 12. She was like another parent to me, and now she's gone. I guess it's probably for the best; she was hit by a car a couple years ago and was really taken out of things. She wasn't herself anymore. *sigh* Mortality is scary.