a machine that could extract the juice of two hundred oranges in half an hour

I'm working on my poetry portfolio and listening to August and Everything After for the first time in god only knows how long - I'm not sure which house I was living in when it disappeared from my collection, but it's been since Portland, at least. Someone here at Ledig has it on her itunes, so I'm listening in. Man. It really was a formative album for me. And one remarkably devoid of associations that make me feel sad, like many other albums I listened to obsessively at various points (see Elliot Smith, Tori Amos, Ani Difranco, Neutral Milk Hotel...).

It's so beautiful outside that I would really like to take a walk through the magical sculpture fields, but the portfolio is already past due, so I'm holing up like a good girl and plugging away.

Apparently Chris and my arrival doubled the number of Americans here. We've got writers from Spain, China by way of India, Austria, Germany, England and the Congo. Indiana? Not so exotic. Interesting dinner conversations, for sure. I have a king-sized bed and ate zucchini with mint last night and organic berries all day. We may stage an informal reading, since many of us are leaving before the next formal reading. I'll let you know how that goes. There's a beautiful wood-paneled library full of all the past residents' books. I also have a big white chair that's good for reading in.

I've been trying to read a book a day, so I might post bits of ones I've read. I started out easy, with a funny book about the personals blurbed by Ira Glass. Now I'm rereading The Great Gatsby. I'd forgotten how much I love that book. I haven't read it since I've been seriously writing fiction; it's so different now. What a brilliant characterization his introduction of Daisy is. I know I'm not saying anything new here, but the narrative perspective is so well handled. I keep being amazed at how Fitzgerald manages to tell a story about such compelling individuals as Gatsby and Daisy without ever losing sight of the fact that Nick's is the central story, and that all the drama of Gatsby's parties is simply one aspect of a summer in which so much more happened in this character's life. Plus, who can get over Chapter 3? "A pair of stage twins, who turned out to be the girls in yellow, did a baby act in costume, and champagne was served in glasses bigger than finger-bowls. The moon had risen higher, and floating in the Sound was a triangle of silver scales, trembling a little to the stiff, tinny drip of the banjoes on the lawns." Wow.

Finally, the aftermath of car accidents is no fun. Although my agent reminds me a little of Steve Carrell on The Office in that he's a bit overly personal (read flirtatious), but he's good hearted and seems like his fierce loyalty might get the job done. Cross your fingers.