Writes all the things. Most of the things never write back.
Ever hear the lyrics to The Theme from MAS*H?
“Through early morning fog I see
Visions of the things to be
The pains that are withheld for me
I realize, and then I see…”
THIS is why I avoid early morning fog. And early mornings in general. You never know when there’s going to be fog. I don’t want to take any chances.
Watching Doctor Who via Roku. Eight minutes before the end, it stops and says “Service Unavailable. We apologize, but we are unable to fulfill your request at this time. Please try again later. [OK]”
I am not a Time Lord. Not that I am willing to admit publicly yet. Those of you who know the truth, hush.
a) BBC America
2) Time Warner Cable
III) Roku
100) Doctor freakin’ Who himself?
E) All of the above
6) None of the above
7) There is no 7.
8) There is no 8 either. It disappeared along with the eight minutes of the Doctor Who episode.
(Hint: it’s never All of the Above or None of the Above in a multiple choice exam. Unless it is. This is reality-based, more or less, so use your best judgment. Then again, you’ve wasted valuable moments of your life reading this, so your best judgment is automatically suspect. That entity next to you looks sensible. Ask him, her, or it. It’s not cheating. I’m not looking. Ignore how I knew there was someone or something next to you as evidence to the contrary. It was a lucky guess.)
When someone says that it would behoove someone to do something, why do they never actually wind up with hooves when they do it?
The Prairie Spy Malinda rode her horse Melrose to Court Pendu Plat, there to meet with Reverend Morgan and the man who had ruined her life, Lord Lamborne. Not even the lord’s men, the Black Amish, could keep her from stealing the Golden Pearmain with which she would ransom the freedom of her family from the lord’s foul clutches.
“And then I will be free to marry Crown Prince Rudolph,” she said to herself. She’d developed a bad habit of speaking to herself. It was the stress.
She just hoped the prince hadn’t done anything rash in her absence, like marrying that American Beauty of the Bayou, Orleans Rennette. Her father, the ruthless VonZuccalimaglios Rennette, would stop at nothing to see his daughter at the prince”s side.
But Malinda still had a few friends behind the scenes at court – the scullery maid Pixie, the stable boy Oliver, and gentle Merton Russet, the very blacksmith who had shod Melrose. By the time Holiday arrived, she and her family would be free – or dead.
And in the end? They all lived apple-ly ever after.
I am going to write a legal thriller about the first simian appointed to the Supreme Court, and I shall call it FIRST MONKEY IN OCTOBER.
As a writer, it’s reassuring to hear Vince Gilligan say he didn’t know how Breaking Bad was going to end, other than that Walter White would die.
When the movie description includes “Amazingly, the old man has become the defacto leader of the gang,” something went wrong with the script somewhere.
Today is National Poetry Day!
Here’s a poem that’s been running through my head. I finally wrote it down.
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Snapping Turtle
As I was driving home
I saw him in the road
I say ‘him;’
I don’t know.
He was halfway across my lane,
Another lane to go
Headed north
Toward the swamp.
I parked my car on the shoulder
Got out
Walked over
Picked him up.
“Don’t you know,”
I scolded,
“that the road is not a safe place for little turtles?”
He blinked.
Held my gaze.
I carried him beyond
To the far side of the road
To the tall grass on the north
To what safety might be there
I hoped he was returning home.
I hoped he was the Marco Polo of his clan
I hoped he’d tell the other turtles
Of places he’d gone and things he’d seen.
His kin had been here
Long before mine.
His kin will remain
Long after I’m gone.
He was just a baby
An inch long
Give or take.
Before I let him go
I asked one thing of him:
“Remember me.”
Maybe he will.
The next time I submit a story, I will include a note demanding payment, or else I start killing adverbs.