Mea Culpa, Mea Covid

waylaid

I’m going to ask for your forgiveness.

I started writing an issue for you all on July 12th.

That was the weekend that Hiro and I drove to Portland, and although I made good progress, seated at the kitchen table in our little motel suite, I gave in to the pleasure of travel.

I introduced Hiro to my writing friend, August (and please follow them on Patreon; I love their writing). We had inexplicable Italian food in Lake Oswego. We drove over the coast range to Cape Lookout. We had a stellar evening at Salam, a Persian/Lebanese restaurant in Hillsboro, with one of my oldest friends and her beau. I discovered walking trails for my morning rituals. And then Hiro and I stopped at his favorite volcano, Mount Saint Helens, on the way home.

That’s Mount Adams at far left. Photo by the author.

When I returned home, I learned that Unfolding, an essay that braids my interpretation of the Japanese creation myths with my own creation as a gay man, went live on TriQuarterly.

Did I bury the lede? I might have buried the lede.

On Friday the 19th, I had hoped to do some writing before another planned weekend away, this time in British Columbia. But then there was that Microsoft outage, and I spent too much time trying to finish work stuff (which I had hoped to finish on Thursday).

By the way, my home computer is a Mac. I’ve been an Apple person since 1984, which I now realize is forty years ago. Holy cats.

Hiro and I returned from BC late on Sunday. There were no volcano visits on the way home, but we did stop at Costco for gas.

Monday had a surprise waiting in my junk inbox. One of my dream agents asked me to re-send my query and then, upon receipt of said query, asked me to re-send my proposal. He cautioned me, though (and repeated that caution during an online webinar later in the week), that he might not be the best person for my type of memoir: hybrid with a flash-like (by which he means short chapters—the average length of my chapters is around 300 words—I call them Polaroid chapters) structure.

If he’s ultimately not the right fit, so be it. But he gratefully gave me some actionable feedback on my website, so I made the suggested changes.

And then came Tuesday morning. I woke up sideswiped by the worst headache I can remember having, my forehead skewered from temple to temple with pain. After ten hours, during which time my extra-strength painkillers had zero effect, I reached for an in-home COVID-19 test.

Photo by the author.

I had gone for 1,602 days as a NOVID, but my streak ended. (Hiro continues to test negative, thank goodness.)

The symptoms were different on Wednesday. The headache now felt very sinus, and I started coughing (minus any phlegm). The intestinal woe was not welcome, either.

I hoped my Tuesday test result had been a fluke (because the test itself had a 2022 expiration date), but after sleeping for most of Wednesday, I took another test and repeated the result.

Hiro drove me to the hospital (because I thought I needed a PCR test to make the diagnosis official—not true!), and we were sent home, but Thursday morning, I started on Paxlovid.

Plot Twist

By Thursday afternoon, I had enough energy to start looking at email.

One in particular stood out.

When I attended the Association of Writers and Writing Professionals (AWP) Conference in Seattle in March of 2023, I made the acquaintance of a small, independent publisher. I am a fan of his press (and have reviewed one of his authors), and when asked, I pitched my memoir.

After the Conference, I wrote the publisher, including my (then) proposal.

A response arrived this past week from a member of his team.

Is the full manuscript available? We’d like to read it.

I sent it (of course!) with the note that the manuscript had changed dramatically since 2023 and that there was a new proposal (thank you again,

Greg Mania

, for your Book Proposal Generator sessions!).

They asked for that new proposal. I sent it.

Photo by Iori Takano. Summer is fireworks season in Japan, and the last weekend in July is when the Kihoku Tōrō Matsuri, a festival of massive lanterns and fireworks, is held in Kihoku township, in Mie Prefecture.

Earlier in the week, when the excitement of hearing (tentatively, I know) from a dream agent was fresh, I shared the following thought: I’m really good at hope.

Still Sick, Though

The Paxlovid is working wonders. Most symptoms are at bay, except for fatigue.

Energy comes and goes. Friday, I completed the application for the Queer Arts Mentorship program (with a boatload of thanks for

Amy

, who offered feedback on the three—count ‘em, three—short essays I needed to include). Yesterday, I finished two drafts. One, a long-form essay (4,000 words), the other, flash (less than 1,000 words).

This morning, I had enough power to write this issue (perhaps because I thought it would only take a few minutes… and two hours later, here we are).

As the week progresses, I hope to finish up the Out of Japan drafts I have waiting for you all.

Thank you for sharing good vibes.