If only I could take my yoga practice on the mat, off the mat and into real life. Since I've started doing yoga, my body has become more flexible---more able to stretch itself and see new possiblities and to play and to make the most out of postures, movement, breath. To go with the vinyasa. But why can't my life be more like a dance? Why can't I flow as well when there's no mat under my feet?
I had a wonderful conversation with the famous E. about diversity and why our press doesn't have more of a representative author base being in the D.C. area. And how we have to change that immediately for the betterment of the press. We also talked a lot about voice and character and what naturally occurs in our writing and how direct or indirect everything can be. We also talked about the idea of writing as bringing the voice of the other closer to your own and how we can see both similarity and difference while remaining true to the story and what in fact does this kind of truth imply. I'm completely not doing justice to the conversation, but it was wonderful, relevant, and productive. Guidelines for the book contest can be found here.
I think I accomplished enough to feel satisfied for the day---yoga bright and early, new plans for press stuff, started those wheels turning. Worked on my workshop for the F. Scott Fitzgerald festival, interviewed by a reporter for an article about said literary festival, did email interview for didi's fabulous contribution to women in publishing, worked on Ramona poems, but somehow, it just doesn't feel right...
Though maybe that's part of it. Sometimes it just won't feel right. Or enough. Or gold star worthy.