Okay. So perhaps it’s wrong to quantify and say that there are big triumphs and there are small triumphs. Actually, it’s best to say that there are just triumphs. This is because a triumph is what it is, just that.

The other day I also mentioned something about big defeats. I would just like to scratch that notion, and for now, just focus on the subject of triumphs.

Last night’s reading WAS a triumph. I could perhaps say not enough people showed up (there were a dozen people there) or that this was an insignificant

event because the only people who showed up were Bill Schmidtkunz and my friends. However, this is clearly reverse logic. The right number of people showed up – there was comfortable seating for just this many, by the library fireplace. And roughly half of these people were very good friends of mine.

The setting was the Sutton Library which has to be the most beautiful library in the world. High ceilings, wood beams, beautiful artwork – this facility, in and out, all who enter its doors are in awe of it.

What I realized in seeing these people was just how dear they are to me. I didn’t fully realize this before, so this was an important revelation.

Pete began the reading, by introducing us and talking a bit about Red Horse Press. He was relaxed, smooth – and drew upon his years of teaching public speaking at Mat Su College. I found myself thinking – wow – and I live with this guy!

Next up was me. I first spoke about my writerly failings, noting (for example) that I had limited success as a poet because my poems read like stories with line breaks. I also said I had limited success as a journalist because I could never keep technical facts straight. I then noted that my failings lead to my finding my writerly niche, which is memoir writing.

This then lead to my talking about memoir writing, and what I like about it, which is that it is a form which allows for considerable experimentation. I then talked a bit about point of view, and then used three examples, my interpretation, Ben Crawford’s interpretation, and Raudi’s supposed interpretation of her early illness, one what was brought on by her gorging herself on birdseed.

After, Nan Potts, who is my writing group, asked many questions, and this enabled me to elaborate on what I was getting at.

There was then a break, which allowed Bill and me to mingle with our readership. I was grateful for this opportunity because I really wanted to talk with my friends. When I talk, I never make small talk. Rather, I talk about important things – and this time was no exception. Betty Peirce and her sister Jeanette showed up – Jeanette has been in Israel the past three years. Her account of her time there was riveting. I hope that I can track her down and have lunch with her because I want to hear more.

We reconvened and I then introduced Bill, saying that he did need an introduction, because few were familiar with his work. Then Bill read from his new book, entitled Home. His work stands in stark contrast to mine. I am very verbose – I am writerly urban sprawl. Bill is urban planning. Every word in every poem counts.

It all ended too soon. Events like last night are events that you want to go on forever. But they can’t last forever because nothing lasts forever. So at 8 p.m. we all headed home, our heads filled with new images.

Next: 156. 6/13/15: And yet Another Conversation with Raudi