Larina Warnock's blog

Usually, he lies on a blanket in front of the television. His hair is short, surrounding his face in chestnut tufts. Almond-shaped eyes of a deep brown hue glance to and fro, often moving before he can muster the strength to turn his head. When the grey and white drapes in the living room are open, and the sun casts its rays down upon his face, those eyes sparkle and gleam, as though nothing in the world is horrible or sad. During these times, he moves himself closer to the window, to look up at the sky.

I spent last Sunday afternoon with perhaps the most diverse group of writers I've ever seen in one place outside of a conference. There were fiction writers (literary and genre), poets, nonfiction writers (memoir, essay, and article); professional writers, beginning writers, and people just writing for themselves; young writers, old writers, and everything between; writers who started in elementary school and writers who started in their 50's; writers on five or more social networking sites and writers who don't use email. This is one of the things I love about living where I do.

I once wrote the wrong name on a Father's Day card. I was twelve and I'd had a few fathers by then, some "official" and some not. Fathers were fleeting things--like butterflies that fluttered just an inch too high for me to reach when we lived in northern Idaho, or the jets that flew so high and fast that they were out of eyeshot by the time I knew they were there when we lived outside McChord Air Force Base in Washington, or the thunderstorms that appeared out of nowhere and dissipated just as fast nearly every summer afternoon that we lived in Glen Burnie, Maryland.

I understand why novelists get agents. I really do. If I could be a writer and never write a cover letter or sort through potential markets, I would be in Heaven. Unfortunately, that isn't how the real world works--and short story writers and poets rarely get agents.

I keep thinking that today is the day I can breathe a long sigh of relief, as though the past 8 years are behind us now and we can start moving toward a better future. Yet, I read in the news that President-Elect Obama has said that he won't make an investigation into the actions of the current administration a top priority of his administration. I am beyond disappointed in this statement. It takes away my hope and replaces it with fear. Can our country live with this gaping wound? Should our country live with this gaping wound?