PAUL MICHEL

My mother was raised in a big Irish family, the Cullinans, in (mostly) Cambridge , Ohio in the 1920s and ‘30s. There were eleven children, one of whom died in infancy, leaving Mom the second oldest, younger only than my Aunt Evy, who died when I was ten. She was my “first death,” that is, the first person I’d known to die, as I couldn’t really include JFK, or even the kid in second grade who was absent one day and then the next and who never came back, and months later we were told that he’d died and gone straight to heaven with no stop in Purgatory, because he’d had the Stigmata in his last days. (more…)

Favorite Chine restaurant translation (so far):
"Giant clam with two tastes."

Yesterday was principally about the Met, (as in the art museum not the opera house); a full, foot-sore seven hours of mostly Middle Eastern, Egyptian and Cypriot art as it happened, though through no particular design, and a couple of surprises as well. Oh and a new Picasso exhibit, open in preview to members, which we became quickly when it was explained to us that an annual membership would be cheaper than admission for two. Seeing a Picasso exhibit is like going to a gallery of a half-dozen different twentieth century artists. His linocuts alone are worth the price of admission. And "The Blind Man's Meal." And... (more…)

My body thinks it's 4:30 am, but it's awake anyway, despite staying up as late as I could manage reading R. Boswell's American Made Love , and after a long walk around the Lower East Side, and, most importantly, a fabulous dinner at the Congee Kitchen on Allen Street, just a few blocks from our hotel on the edge of Chinatown. (more…)

Off to New York City tomorrow; a quick trip engendered by a wedding that wasn't; a long tale and a sad one with a silver lining (i.e., the wedding that wasn't a good idea). Tickets bought, hotel reserved, what the heck? It's been over a year since I was in the City, and I'd not gladly miss a chance to visit, especially with no agenda more complicated than eating, walking, eating, visiting museums and eating. (more…)

Well it's not the morning but it is after, meaning that the Houdini Pie release party happened last night, and partly this morning, and now my novel is officially "out," and it's time to see what happens next...

I was gently reminded last night by an old friend that I'm not very diligent about blogging on this site. Guilty as charged. Too much happening too fast and too consistently. My bad, my apologies. (more…)

I am in Denver for the Associated Writers' Programs Conference. I have heard tell that there are 8,000 registrants for this year's conference. I took that with a cup of salt until I boarded my flight from Seattle this afternoon; it seems to me that fully 80% of the passengers were pretty clearly writers of one kind or another. How could I tell? Oh c'mon. (more…)

I seem not to be a very reliable blogger. Unlike the protagonist in my novel-in-progress, who has embraced the core philosophy of blogging--that is,one blogs not because one has something to say, but simply because one can, and very much unlike the legions of Tweeters and Facebookers whose digital hiccups are slowly replacing human speech as our principal form of communication, I don't rush to my computer on a daily (or hourly) basis to impart to a waiting world the details of my latest meal, TV show, ballgame, political passion, childhood memory, doctor's visit, beach walk, brainstorm or bowel movement. (more…)