I’m in Denver, visiting with my mom and stepfather for a day before I fly home after a business thing. I came out here to talk about professional learning communities with some real hotshots in the field. (I am wondering now how I even got invited… some of these people really knew their stuff.)

We spent the afternoon at the Colorado Rail Museum, which was terrific. To continue a theme, I think Mary, Scott, and I are going to go to Union Station to see the Denver Model Train Club run their trains. I’ve heard that’s a pretty massive setup for model trains… if so, I’ll be thoroughly impressed, because the setup at the Rail Museum was impressive.

I’ve been meaning to say this for almost a week– the most recent Carolina Quarterly is out. I’ve got a poem in there (written a little over ten years ago now… yikes). But that’s not the best reason to read it– Martha Carlson-Bradley’s “History of the Fetus” or Evan Gurney’s review of Michael McFee’s The Napkin Manuscripts and Shinemaster share that honor.

I suppose most bloggers go through fits and starts, but I feel like I have more fits than starts. I’ve been struggling with the purpose of this blog for quite some time– Little Fury launched in May 2006 to replace my old blog of four years. The old one was the kind of meaningless blather about nothing at all that I had grown to hate in so many other blogs, so Little Fury was intended to be my poetry blog. But it’s devolved into two-word descriptions of the books I am reading because, well, I’m busy putting my writing energies into other things. The only time I get really excited about blogging is when I’m doing one of those ridiculous 30-days-of-microfiction exercises which immediately disqualifies the piece from appearing in most magazines and journals, even if I take it down after a day or two. (I have some poems that have appeared in that format, though in another blog undertaken under an alias which was, apparently, not very hard to figure out.)

I used to get a great deal of use out of my blog, mostly as a way of charting what I was thinking about at any given time. I figured that no one was reading, so I could say whatever I wanted. I suppose I knew all along that everything would be permanently searchable, but you know, it just doesn’t bother me when I hear years later from someone I was sniping with that they found my blog when they Googled themselves and, oh yes, they hate me too. Bah. In all likelihood, by the time I get your e-mail, you’ve been out of my life so long that I don’t have any energy left for you anyhow.

I get none of that use now, since I don’t chart my daily goings-on any more. There’s not much to chart a lot of days. I go to work. I try to do something useful while I am there. I come home. I try to spend time with Heidi or I work on my MFA. It is not what I would term an exciting life, not a life worth reading about. But I should be mindful that the exercise of journaling is not about reading; it is about writing. One must trust the unconscious to provide the information that the conscious mind will need to use later.

Recognizing that this domain name is some seriously valuable property, however– several other Ross Whites across the world would snap my neck to have a go at it– I’m thinking now that I should move the blog again to some folder or subdomain and use the homepage to sell the commercial entity that is Ross White.

This was a long-winded way to say, RSS readers, prepare to update your feed location.

Planned obsolesence is a pain. A relatively inconsequential rubber button my phone popped off, and the sprint store can’t repair it. Their solution: ship me a new phone. Over a thirty- cent part! sigh

Heather Maki is the verse part of Verse Daily today.

Someone, please, come into my skull and take John Mellencamp’s “Cherry Bomb” out. I cannot get it gone!

Wanted (badly):

Some decent message boards for poets. I’m clearly in the process of breaking up with the boards I currently visit… and I’ve only ever been an infrequent visitor.

I just need discussion. I don’t need (or want) boards that have a place for people to share their own work.

Help.

If my week continues as it has begun, I’ll be able to start scheduling time for the work tasks that I labeled “low priority” back in June. I have been trying to accept very little new work until I could get to these things, because while they weren’t high priority at the time, they’ve accumulated, and their presence in my list of stuff to do has begun to make me feel mad anxious. One of them is technically about a year old. It’s time for it to happen.

Ladybug and I went to a live Clue party Saturday night, dressed up and mildly in character. This confirmed for me that I will never write mysteries, and made me think about being straightforward in poems as opposed to withholding information until it’s needed. It’s not hard to withhold in a poem, only to find when you release the information that the poem had telegraphed the revelation, announced the absence of meaning, and already veered towards gimmickry. Most of the best poems lay out the emotional stakes quickly and work within the parameters they’ve set forth. It’s not that they don’t surprise, it’s just that the surprise is warranted and earned.

One outcome of the party is that I’ve been thinking really seriously about organizing a big scavenger hunt. It’s way more fun to be on a team, but hey, we could put one together.

Thanks to Lifehacker’s tips and a little more sleep than I used to get, I’m waaaay more productive now than I used to be. Which is one part discipline and one part necessity, since full-time work and full-time grad school requires me to focus if I want to do my third full-time job: being awesome.

Some news: Ellen C. Bush and I will be reading October 13 at 6 PM as a part of the Carrboro Poetry Festival. Given how completely awesome Ellen is, I am jazzed that someone also wanted me!

I have been reading like a fiend, but since I’m now on my way to Linda’s I will tell you only the stuff you need to know:

• A Painted Field - Robin Robertson - good & onomatopoeic
• Against the Evidence: Selected Poems 1934-1994 - David Ignatow - up and down, but the up moments are astonishing… also, it’s missing my favorite Ignatow poem, so what gives with that?
• An Alternate History of the 21st Century - William Shunn - run-of-the-mill sci-fi, with two exceptional short stories
• other stuff - I didn’t enjoy as much
• Field & Stream Magazine - has the best article titles of any magazine ever
• Travels - W.S. Merwin - has a different version of the poem I used in my essay… uh oh

omg, Blondie’s “Call Me” is such a good song. I’m not realizing that for the first time; it’s just the first time I have been moved to share.