We got another little burst of snow overnight, no more than a coating, but still it's hard to be enthusiastic.

Cold, grim, gray . . . this has been a classic Maine April. It's a good thing I love my wood stove so much, or I might be a little downhearted. But the crocuses are doughty, the scilla is blue, the songbirds insist. If they can hack the lousy weather, so can I.

Yesterday I finished annotating student poems, prepped teaching plans for next week, copyedited a chapter,  burrowed into The Wings of the Dove. Today, more editing, then errands to run, then my evening writing group. I feel and sound boring but such is quotidian life.

If you happen to be in southern Maine on Saturday, I'll be reading at the South Portland Library at 2 p.m. with Marita O'Neill and David Stankiewicz. If you happen not to be in southern Maine, I've still got a few spaces open in my May 3 zoom class: only $75 for a full day of writing and conversation, which I'm realizing is dirt cheap compared to what other venues are charging. I recently saw a class advertised at $200 for two hours, which honestly I find a little shocking. Who can afford that? And how can you possibly get $200's worth of writing done in two hours?

Apparently this is why I stay poor.