A recent preoccupation has been Clara Bow—though I still haven’t seen any of her films, including It—the film that gives us the phrase “It-girl.” Sienna Miller has nothing on Clara. I’m thinking of wandering to campus this afternoon and burying myself in the library for an hour and a half to watch this film.

On the plane to Panama City, I read a biography of her (Clara Bow: Runnin’ Wild, by David Stern) and took notes—another actress poem. Number six. I scribbled bits and pieces towards the poem while in Panama, and then this morning took myself to Baked and Wired to have a stab at putting it together. I think the resulting poetic “essay” works, though I’m never certain.

So many actresses.

I still haven’t managed to write my Louise Brooks piece, though I will. In the mean time (and, interestingly, care of an essay Louise Brooks wrote) I’ve become interested in Lillian Gish—I’ve seen only one of her films. The D W Griffith Broken Blossoms. She’s quite wonderful.

It’s so nice to be writing. Some prose ideas coming too—both articles, but maybe some fiction. Sometime.

I also have to try to get myself into gear to write a few abstracts today, for some conferences I’ve found that interest me. I’m behind—hugely behind—in my ambition to visit ten or more states this year. I’ve been to Virginia and New York. And I’d been to both of those before. I will get there.

Oh! To write is blissful. To follow one book to the next that book suggests.

I am finally reading The English Patient. I’ve devoured Ondaatje’s poems, but somehow never read all his novels. Now I’m jumping in.

And the weather is beautiful—I feel light and happy. Plan to go to the Kennedy Center tonight for a free performance (a dance showcase) and maybe I’ll take some photographs on the way back…

During the week I’ll start seriously thinking about getting some academic work done too…