PITS Turns Three / Wonderful, Mostly

My beloveds,

Without my realizing it, Pigeon in the Sun had a birthday on September 27, its third. It's been a good three years. I've made several strong friends and a few enemies and a few more frienemies. PITS has lasted almost as long as my relationship with Atticus. I started it as a way to keep telling Mom about my life after I moved to New York with Atticus, during a time when she and I weren't talking so well. Now Mom and I talk about everything. I had just shaved my head; now it pulls back to a teensie ponytail like the Dread Pirate Roberts's. FHM has closed, as have both of the places I used to read my work in New York. Bruno and I are thick as thieves. And on and on.

Today's an anniversary, actually: exactly a year ago, I left New York. I was supposed to go home for a month but... well. You know; you were there.

You were there for all of it. The mean ones of you, too, the people whose voices I heard in my head so often louder than the kind ones. As I wrote I anticipated your response. I imagined what unkind things you would make of what I said. I'm doing it now, thinking of you mocking this. That's probably half the reason I'm putting PITS in a notebook and turning my attention to new projects.

But the other half is that I'm just ready to go quiet for a while. Become an expert on something other than my own inner/outer monologue and all the attending hopes and fears. I never thought PITS would turn into "a thing" but it's been a huge thing in my life. Huge. It made me a better writer, a braver one. It let me find good people I never would have connected with. It's been wonderful, mostly.

But I think three years is a good run for an intimate experiment. The blog will be up for a while as I copy it to hard drive so Bruno and JAG, please come out and have a good spat for old times' sake. And anybody who want to write me can, as always, at emily dot deprang at gmail dot com.

The Universe will end with not a bang, but a whimper, I'm told. I don't feel like it's a whimper. I know I'll continue this conversation with several people off the blog. I just have the feeling like I did after the rest of the class would leave the room and sometimes the teacher shut off the lights while I was still writing, and told me to shut the door when I was done. It's not sad. It's just... time.

Okay, yes, I feel like I'm putting a pet to sleep. I feel the classroom thing but also sad. I do think it's time, though. I do want a little more mental quiet, and to commence some other three-year project.

So, you know where to find me. Thank you, for everything.

XO
TK
The Pigeon