Sunday, September 30, 2012

The Nain of Rouge

Nain Rouge. Whee. It's supposed to be a kind of mini Sas
quatch that has been haunting the Detroit area for about 200 years. Yes, it's said to have been stalking the pioneers! And now Nain Rouge magazine. Seems Liz and I made it into the magazine partly Because of our raddling of one JR Tomlinson, but he took it in good humour and produced a fine bit of writing for Nain Rouge. I did enjoy the poetry of some other contributors....But where the hell was Mark Durfee's poetry?...I guess its really good form for a poet who edits his own magazine not to swamp it with his own stuff---but as for me, hell, it's publish or perish, even if it's in your own magazine. I'm not proud. I must say I've had a dry spell with the publishing. Nain Rouged did give me quite a perk. It ain't Random House, but what the hell. Some have said that my writing was a bit random in the first place. Hell, it's baroque! And over here, I am quite often baroque, cerrtainly pocket linings hanging out empty. Why do we writers so often do the masochist tango, going the Christ route I suppose, giving it all away and then wondering about some of the teachings while inside an echoing dumpster. There is a passage in J.D. Salinger's excellent old story, "For Esmee From Love and Squalor." Esmee advises a new writer: "Write about squalor." Well, here I am just out of the dumpster, putting on my bib and tucker. Freelance trencherman on the take. Damn. Squalor got me published! I wouldn't recommend this method for any new writer)...There's got to be something in Christianity, but so few people actually try it. I still wouldn't recommend it...Too lecherous to be a Christian anyway....Seems one burns whether married or single. And I suspect that ole Saint Paul may have had a gay streak. Oh what the hell. A Canadian humourist, Don Herron once said, "If God had meant us to go metric, he would have given us ten apostles. Oh well. I'm going to end this screed with an apostle? Not an epistle? Keep a lookout for that hairy red thing haunting the 696 running through Detroit