Karen Palmer
@karenpalmer
Writer, editor, teacher, karenpalmer.com. Memoir SHE'S UNDER HERE (Algonquin Books). NEA, Best American Essays, Pushcart Prize. If I had to choose between reading and eating, I'd be dead in a week. She/her
The sun is hidden behind clouds (and maybe some smoke) but still shows up as a red reflection upon the Columbia.
It's been a long day filled with hard-headed bureaucracy, but now I get to look at this while I write.
Found a 1980 Hustler magazine shoved to the back of the tippy-top shelf in my new office. Omg, the racism, the hatred of women, the ads the cartoons the photo shoots ...
At the Clatsop County Fair watching “extreme lumberjacks.” Climb to “Hot-blooded” by Foreigner. City mouse here—a different life.
Last week, while I was teaching for Lighthouse Writers up in Grand Lake, CO, a mama moose right strolled past my cabin window.
There are a lot of deer in Astoria. They're super cute but a hazard, as Vinnie found out the hard way when one jumped onto his truck on the main drag, jumped off unhurt, and then fled. His deer companions loitered on the sidewalk, looking pleased. Good job, fellas.
We made it. Whew. Unpacking will have to wait—off now (back in the car lolsob) to teach for Lighthouse Writers in Grand Lake, CO.
Stopped for gas and coffee in Myrtle Creek, OR, and I am mesmerized by this willow.
The husband put the custom Honda CR750 racing bike he spent years building up for auction. He is an artist and the bike is gorgeous. It's won several awards. But the bidding didn't even meet the reserve, which, given time and money, was modest. If you know anyone who might be interested ...
Many months late, Google Alerts coughed up this link to @literaryhub.bsky.social's Bookmarks (a site that collects reviews—these are for my memoir SHE'S UNDER HERE). Seeing them again was lovely. In these days of contracting coverage, I have been lucky.
My favorite mom, our daughter @erinpalmerdc.bsky.social cracking up her eldest. Happy Mother's Day, sweetheart.
CO, 2003 (found while packing): I was working for City of Louisville's Dept of Public Works as an asst to the manager of a big pipeline project b/t Boulder Creek & the Louisville Reservoir. (There's a bit @ this in SHE'S UNDER HERE.) I look kinda mad here, I guess—or maybe skeptical—but I was happy.
Packing up books for the move. Here's one unexceptional, utterly obscure YA novel from the 1960s—The Defiant Heart, by Florence B. Michelson—that made me a writer. It was that word. Defiant. (The book has a cameo in SHE'S UNDER HERE.)
We're slowly starting to pack for our move to Astoria this summer, and I came across an old Soho Press catalog with a spread for my novel ALL SAINTS. Where does the time go?
PSA. Recently spent some ridiculously productive time at Dorland Mountain Arts, a residency program in Temecula, CA. You do have to pay to be there, but I stayed in Zacchai cottage, the most reasonable option—it even comes with a grand piano. The desert quiet is delicious.
Reading T Kira Madden's novel WHIDBEY and it's scary how it's exactly what I need right now. The subject is nerve-racking, but she has so much compassion for characters that would be straight-up villains in another author's hands. Crystalline prose, and boy does she own the plot. Highly recommended.
I'd like to subscribe to the local newspaper for the town in Oregon (pop 10K) where we're moving in 3 months. Month-to-month pricing is cheaper than an annual subscription, which is not how this usually works. Trying to decide whether this is small-town nice or a math problem.
My all-time favorite review was the one my cousin sent. (Looking forward to reading your novel.)
The husband retires in a 3 months, and we are going to return to Oregon. The last time we lived in Astoria, at the mouth of the Columbia River (the graveyard of the Pacific!), was 2003-2005. It's a nice little town, but it did not go particularly well. Fingers crossed that things will be easier now.
There's now a proper graphic for this UCR event out in Palm Desert. Tod's a great writer and a hell of an interviewer (which I'd say even if he weren't an old friend). I'm excited for our conversation.
My posts are all over the place in this dark time (please forgive), but here's a shot of the husband when he was a kid. His rock 'n' roll career was over by the time he was 10, but what a cutie.
Do you need a moment of levity? Here's something from the husband's camera roll.
Husband's coworker took an infrared photo of him. (I am now afraid to sleep beside him.) His glasses, being cool temperature-wise are dark. Interestingly, there's another shot of just his knees. The left leg, with recently replaced joint, is white hot. Inflammation, I guess.