In 1965, when I was nineteen, Louisiana was at war with itself, as some of its citizens marched for the right to just be, while others struggled with their consciences in a messy reaction to the civil rights movement. Ultimately, I'm proud to say, Louisiana's citizens, black and white, chose the right side of history.

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The afternoon before I leave New Orleans, I arrive at the Maple Leaf minutes after three, the start time of Nancy Harris's Sunday readings, but there's no sign of poetry. For the moment the poets have joined the football fans. The Saints are playing the Giants in the Super Dome, it's All Saints Day,...

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It's that time. I'm finished with today's work, flailing away at what might become a novel, or making a weekly commit of Groovy or Javascript poetry to my now one-day-a-week employer's repository, or pausing for a while in my reading, or weed whacking, or...

What's next?

Today's particular possi...

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Katrina accelerated the deterioration already underway before the storm. The city already had hundred year old water mains and sewers in a bad state. It's a fine old tradition here that things that are not visible do not receive attention.

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The War Of Art

The book is The War Of Art, by Steven Pressfield, not to be confused with The Art Of War, a completely (!) different book.

This small volume was recommended by an author/speaker at the Santa Barbara Writer's conference. One of the ridiculously successful authors at this year's conference menti...

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