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At any rate, I think Mike and I are getting your old rooms in West House. That's the impression I got from Curt Harnack's descritpion. I know two people who'll be there (MacDowell friends) -- David Del Tredici, the composer, nad Harry Leight, a sculptor, who goes gigantic stabiles in plywood -- beautiful things, but it takes a trailer truck to move him from point A to point B. Very well, we're not back on the foundation circuit. Have to explore the Wurlitzer scene in Toas, and someone has just told us about an island off the coast of Georgia that's turned over to artistic-type folks for a couple of months each year by a well-heeled couple from Illinois. Ossabaw Island. The Savannah Project. Does this ring a bell with you? 
Actually, they are more than generous at Yaddo to take me in again. I've been asleep at the switch these past few years. Did the American Heritage editorial-cum-staff-writing stint, then a book on my own on American Antiques (good research, book-of-the-month, etc., but God knows not "creative); then doubled as Bobby Short's ghost writer for his "autobiography." Wish I had an extra copy. Would send you one with this letter, but am down to a single copy, and must order more from Dodd-Mead. (Stand by.) But it was an interesting move -- someone else's life. Particularly, since I am not a musician, nor male, nor black,  But carried it off, by crikey. Fine, fine reviews -- about awareness and sensitivity and the rest -- in the Times, Life, Christian Science Monitor, and so on. (Maybe I'm meant to be a reporter. A follower. An interpreter.) Then did some short stories that didn't sell, but I've never had the knack of short stories. The writing-to-essence knack. Right now, finishing up a Country Journal (working title) on request from Dodd-Mead.
Mike, lucky duck, has been busy, busy, and with it. He's writing on the environment, lead stories in the Times magazine section and Harpers and the rest of the good places to be printed. His newest assignment is a book on hawks, pushed his way by Norman Kotker at Scribers. (And I met Norman at your house, and