I already know — 8 months ago
...what my memoir would be called. It’s one of those things that hits you like a huge bug that splatters on your windshield and you can’t clean it off until you reach your destination-or, in this case, write the damn memoir.
When I lived in Italy, I had the pleasure of meeting Lawrence Ferlinghetti which was, and this goes without saying, one of the most thrilling and unforgettable moments of my life and career. What made it even more memorable, though, was the first sentence he spoke to me. I was introduced as “St. Andrews’ poet-in-residence.” (Remember that I go to St. Andrews College.)
In this raspy, aged, terribly sexy voice, Lawrence fucking Ferlinghetti, gold hoop earring and all, said, “She doesn’t look like a saint to me.”
ohmygodohmygodohmygod.
Expect Like A Saint To Me to hit shelves 2011-sh.
