Pia's Nest

Send-Off Salon.

2009-06-15T16:23:00.003-05:00

The good thing that was Studio at Colton (part of Creative Alliance New Orleans - CANO) at Colton High School on St. Claude is coming to an end long before its time, because the Recovery School District wants to use the 100,000 sf high school again as a high school. Room 220 - the brainchild of Anne Gisleson and Press Street, and a place we co-founded - is to be no more. We're having a reading this Wednesday at 7 p.m., sponsored by Poets & Writers (thank you PW!), so come by to listen and enjoy a drink, a snack, a laugh, shed a tear. What a quiet and productive space it was. I'm reading new work, and I'll be joined by some of Room 220's writers: Constance Adler, Seth Siegel, Moose Jackson, Chris Lane, & Margot Douaihy. Look for the big brick high school at 2300 St. Claude and come up to the second floor.

Story of the Week.

2009-06-15T13:48:00.004-05:00

Alicia Gifford's story, Afterlife, is up this week on Narrative and it kicks ass. The ending's a thing of beauty.

Musical Crush.

2009-06-10T07:45:00.003-05:00

Hem. Some quiet, lovely listening, and the gift of downloads.

Winding Up or Down?

2009-06-10T07:43:00.003-05:00

It's been two years since my first book's publication date (MacAdam/Cage, June 2005) so I don't check the Amazon listing as often. This morning I'm in the low 200,000s, so someone must've bought the paperback recently. Thank you someone! The hardcover's listing is in the, like, 1.2 millions, which makes me want to order a few copies of my own book. Get a first edition while they're still warm! My publisher Kindled me (without telling me) and I've been discounted, so you can buy Famous Fathers & Other Stories for the cost of an unfancy coffee and a blueberry muffin. I downloaded myself onto my Kindle, just to have the book close by. The device is expensive, but there are so many classic books in the public domain, and it's nice to have your own bookshelf right there in your purse. I'm reading Madame Bovary as soon as I stop this first blog entry. After that, Tom Sawyer, then Little Women. Happy Summer.

Our Bright Future.

2009-01-22T13:21:00.002-06:00

It's yours to color.

Sure On This Shining Night.

2008-09-08T16:05:00.001-05:00

Music by Samuel Barber. Text by James Agee.

Listen.

Blow Ike Away.

2008-09-07T19:47:00.003-05:00

A friend sent me this magical post being revisited now because of Ike, the next storm about to enter the Gulf. Just tell me where to show up and I'll play my flute.

New Orleans/gulf coast anti-hurricane strategy by Michael Joseph

"Every man woman and child who possesses a wind instrument (Brass or woodwind) please unite with us at 8:29 pm CST on Friday, August 29th. Face directly south towards the Gulf of Mexico and blow. The resulting sonic force should disturb storm organization and direction, and wind-wise create a man made system of high resonant pressure. Those without wind instruments are welcome to join in as well: sing, whistle and hum. That many horns even God, Saint Gabriel and the rest of the heavenly hosts will hear as well as Our Lady of Prompt Succor.

From the East Bank, the West Bank, the Northshore, the Gulf Coast, Da Parish -- everyone make some noise!!! Like breaking up kidney stones with sonic bombardment -- that's the goal. If you don't have a horn, make noise anyway -- party horns, kazoos, drums, tambourines, ocarinas,your own mouth.

Join us by the Moonwalk, Woldenberg Park, or a levee near you!

Be sure to find a clear and SAFE place close to the banks and shores of our communities for the best resonant wave. We suggest maintaining the lowest tone your instrument can muster for one to three minutes then feel free to break into your favorite New Orleans songs."

On The Run.

2008-09-07T18:49:00.007-05:00

Our son Andrew's safely in Austin and we lost our chocolate Lab, Eddie, in October, so Malcolm and I were more mobile & agile than we were in Katrina. Went to my sister G's house in Mandeville. We've been living in the attic of our gutted house with no kitchen or laundry, so we did loads of laundry and M made a pot roast, which made us feel better and sort of normal in the midst of all of the blooming panic about the storm, especially when the Mayor determined last Saturday, that it would be "the mother of all storms." 1.9 people evacuated the coast and it took my mother-in-law 16 hours to drive from New Orleans to Destin - a 5 hour trip. No way can I get into that kind of traffic again; that's my post traumatic stressor, thanks to Katrina and an 8-hour-bumper-to-bumper-I-55-drive that should've taken 3 to Jackson.

For Monday's hurricane, we drove twenty miles north of Covington, to the home of friends because they had a generator and we knew G's power would go out once the winds and rain started. And it did. We stayed in Covington for two nights. Ten people and eight dogs. Wine, good food, bridge, and plenty of beds. The morning of Gustav, I had a cup of coffee, forced down some scrambled eggs, and went back to bed to sleep through him because it's nerve-wracking to sit glued to the radio and listen to a lot of worry and not have any pictures or results because the storm's unfolding.

On Tuesday morning, the unease of so many unshowered people (enough kilowatts in the generator to power one A/C and lights, but not hot water) and dogs trapped inside by bands and bands of rain was sort of present, so we bolted back to G's where there was no power but privacy and quiet, a gas stove, hot water, toilets that flushed. Malcolm has first responder credentials, and he traveled across the lake and into the empty city. He checked on our house; the National Guard showed up at our front step within minutes. Everything was fine, but hot as hell. He drove back across the causeway to sleep with me in the dark, a battery-operated fan at our feet. That thing worked. We woke at 2 a.m. needing covers.

By Wednesday morning, G's freezer was thawing and the fridge food had started to spoil. Also, we were stir crazy again, so we loaded up the trunk of my car and I drove to Hattiesburg to my mother's, and Malcolm ventured back into the city to work with clients, and throw out the contents of his mom's fridge, also his sister's and his son's. Fear of a fridge ruined by rotting food, and maggots that can only be duct-taped shut and dragged to the curb is a post-traumatic stressor, thanks to Katrina.

Entergy, the power company, lost 14 out of 14 transmission towers. It took four days to get power back in our neighborhood, and we just got cable and internet this afternoon. Once again, the city dodged the bullet of a hurricane. It's the after-its-over problems that knock you down.

People hurried home en masse. Orleans Parish people defied Mayor Nagin's order to wait until midnight and showed up at checkpoints, turning roads into parking lots, so he discontinued the checkpoints. A fierce need to check on your home and live in it again even if it means backed-up sewage, no A/C or lights, cooking on your barbecue, warm beer, no stores, and gas stations pumped dry = Civil Disobedience = a person's right to return.

Gustav.

2008-08-28T13:47:00.010-05:00

In New Orleans right now, there's a collective fatigue/sadness/resignation that's palpable when you walk through the grocery, or ride the elevator to your office like I just did.

"I can't believe this is happening," I said to the worried-looking black woman who rode with me from the parking lot. I'd been admiring her bright blue sandals, didn't want to waste a chance to commiserate about Gustav.

"I know, baby. My mind can't even wrap around it. We'll be okay, though, we'll be okay, it's going away," she said, pushing her hands into a prayer.

She got to her floor sooner than I wanted her to. I wanted to know her plan, tell her mine.

There was a time before Katrina when the possibility of a hurricane sent a funky buzz through the city, and citizens hit the streets to gas up the car, shop for Vienna sausages and canned tuna and Bunny Bread, Doritos, onion dip, jugs of water, cases of beer, bags of ice, and chatted it up in check out lines, then returned home to wait it out, the Southern equivalent of a snow day.

I was court watching this morning on Tulane and Broad, and the judge had to continue a drug trial because one of the twelve jurors didn't show up. "She must be evacuating," the judge said, after leaving a voice message for the missing woman. Tomorrow, the courthouse will close, along with some schools and services.

There's a 311 number for the 30,000 + people to call who need a ride out of town and a place to stay. Yesterday people couldn't get through because the line was busy. Here we go again? (They've supposedly added operators.) The new homeland security czar was on the news this morning, reiterating: "There will be no shelters of last resort."

Malcolm and I will go across the lake to my sister's house in Mandeville because she and her husband are taking their young sons to Vicksburg. The boys are scared of storms. I'd rather stay put in our 100-year-old house that came through Katrina okay except for roof damage, but we're renovating and we've been living in the attic. Heat rises and when the power goes out it'll be hellishly hot up there.

This year we have no big, sweet dog to tend to, no helpful teenage son sprung free from high school to pull in closer. (He's off to college, landlocked.) It's just the two of us and Malcolm wants to be near his clients so he can get back into the city as soon as the coast is clear. What a terrible phrase. Our coast is already clear, since 2005.

Gustav won't enter the Gulf of Mexico until Sunday and landfall wouldn't happen until Tuesday morning, but New Orleanians are worried about wind and water, broken levees, looting, about suffering again when they're still suffering. A scar's reopening even if the storm turns for somewhere else, and then there's the wicked coincidence that this is all happening on the anniversary of Katina.

Chill.

2008-08-20T16:57:00.003-05:00

With Explosions in the Sky. (If you watch Friday Night Lights, this music is going to sound familiar).

Hungry for Books?

2008-08-20T15:02:00.003-05:00

Check out Matt Bell's reviews. He's got a sophisticated palate and a generous appetite for all kinds of writing. Know what I wish? I wish he wrote for PW, but not anonymously. Poke around his site. Read his work, and click on Stories by Other Writers.

McSweeney's for your iPod.

2008-08-18T13:44:00.003-05:00

(Or other audio appliance.) McSweeney's recently hooked up with emusic to release stories from past issues read by their authors. The second CD - McSweeney's Field Recordings: Sweet Nothings and Essential Slow Jams, features the voices of Sheila Heti, Ben Ehrenreich, Tony d'Souza, Chris Bachelder, and me, reading our stories in natural settings. For mine, I sat on the sea wall at Lake Pontchartrain, water lapping at my feet and earth movers at my back because the Corps is adding 8 more feet of hurricane protection.

My friend Jack Pendarvis' funny story, "The Big Dud," can be found on the first McSweeney's Audiobook and if you haven't heard Jack read, well, I promise you'll laugh out loud. If you think the woman's voice sounds like Joey Lauren Adams, you're correct.

Today Is The Day.

2008-08-18T13:31:00.004-05:00

Narrative Magazine is relaunched with a lively design for its story-packed site. And once you sign in, you're good to go. The new archives make rummaging easier, and NM's running new features like Story/Poem-of-the-Day, and works grouped by themes like Sex (that's where my story is), War, Writing. All of this reading pleasure is FREE.

A Nervous Relaunch?

2008-07-22T13:40:00.004-05:00

No, no, a calm and assured one. Check out the new look of The Nervous Breakdown, the brainchild of the tireless and unflappable Brad Listi. I'm going to be blogging there about the renovation of our house.

Off Line and Laid Low.

2008-07-22T13:20:00.004-05:00

Ten days ago, I left my black MacBook at LAX. I was on my way to a meeting in San Francisco. I left three things on that trip and only got one of them back, and the computer is gone. And so are the recent drafts of my novel. I did not back up often enough, or e mail the damn thing to myself, so I'm screwed. I have to believe this is a sign for me to go back in and keystroke the most recent xerox I have and live inside the text for the next week or two. To re engage. It's odd: we're renovating our house so Malcolm and Andrew and I been editing and culling and tossing and donating over these last few weeks, and I wonder if leaving these three things - computer, blue scarf, novel by Kate Christiansen I'd just finished - was a part of this process. Like a snake losing its skin?

I got flustered when the young Chinese girl next to me who was traveling alone wanted to follow me off the plane after we landed. Her father was many rows behind us and he'd only checked on her once, and she looked panicky. I think he wanted to be able to work back there, the jerk. She was, like, 7. He gave her a pink video game and a box of bright colored Chinese candies. Anyway, her distress threw me off and since Katrina I don't have much of an auto-pilot anymore, so I left with the computer under the seat in front of me and by the time I ran back to the gate, huffing and sweating, it was gone. The airlines were no help; they suck. I sat in the baggage claim in the bowels of LAX for two hours imagining that someone would walk in and lay my laptop in my arms, but, um, no. In what dream world does that scenario happen? I hope the fucking person who stole my computer at least had the decency to scrub it.

So I have a new MacBook and I've been slowly filling it with my iTunes and photographs, with bookmarks and saved articles, and I'm trying to forgive myself for leaving something so important and expensive behind. The novel? I left it on the airplane home, and the scarf? It was mailed back to me courtesy of the lovely bed & breakfast in SF, where I'd left it hanging over a chair.

I know, I know: back that thing up.

Malcolm and me.

2008-06-23T16:00:00.003-05:00

Five Stars.

2008-06-23T15:54:00.004-05:00

Check out this multi-faceted site where short story's that've been published on the web are discussed by their original editors and a reviewer. My story, "Running the Room," had its day on June 7th, nominated by two fine writers in their own right, Jim Nichols and Matt Bell.

Five Daily Pieces.

2008-06-23T15:45:00.008-05:00

A new, long story I've been working on for a couple of years - Closer, Still - is being serialized this week at Five Chapters. The lit mag is the brainchild of Dave Daley, the instigator/editor of McSweeney's "Twenty Minute Stories" , which can be found on line and in issue 12 of that magazine.

Brilliant:

2008-06-10T08:47:00.004-05:00

Abigail Ulman's "Chagall's Wife" from New England Review

Dylan Landis' "Rose" from Swink

Marquetry.

2008-06-10T08:40:00.002-05:00

Then and today at the James Cohan Gallery in Chelsea.

Arizona.

2008-06-10T08:31:00.002-05:00

Carolyn Kellogg's visit & interview with my 4-ever friend and Bread Loaf roomie, poet Sally Ball.

Mud.

2008-06-10T08:19:00.006-05:00

Andrew and his friends after skim boarding on a rainy Jazz Fest Saturday.

A Closer Look.

2008-05-29T09:21:00.000-05:00

Andrea Aversa.

What It Is.

2008-05-29T08:55:00.001-05:00

A six-page exclusive excerpt from Lynda Barry's new book.

Class of 2008.

2008-05-29T08:47:00.003-05:00

Curtains . . .

Summa cum laude! Yup! Andrew's on the first row to the right of the aisle, staying very very still.

Proud ain't the word for it.

Cousins.