Trying to divine some order to the spindly backwards reach of our culture

My year is shaping up to be exactly the sort of thing I had hoped for. By the end of the semester I'll have two short-stories that I feel confident about sending around. Interestingly however, I've come to the conclusion that publication in a literary journal doesn't mean much. No one reads them. I haven't yet met a single person who regularly reads them. That said, its a toehold and a tangible milestone . . .

I've got two major trips coming up this year. One out to Boston and New York for a reunion with a sample of the most important people in my life. Wandering around Gotham like we own the place. Getting a preview of settings I hope to later call home. Still vying for one of these Fellow Travelers to come to Boise again.

At the tail-end of the summer I'll be going to Burning Man with another cadre of my personal influences. Starving out in the desert. Trying to recreate a moment of Creation or Enlightenment or Epiphany that has always narrowly eluded me.

In a few weeks, I'm escaping to Ontario, Oregon to hole up in a hotel room and force myself to write. An experiment in ambition, insomnia, tolerance, creativity and fortitude. Hoping to come out with something clean and beautiful.

Taking a summer class that appears, on its face, to be the most promising course I've yet enrolled in.

Anyway, any plans out there?