Still, I’ll be honest: I’ve been writing mini-novellas ever since I was a kid, but my writing consisted of hyperbole strung out like a stainless steel mesh blanket over a bed of petunias. Crushing, utterly crushing, like you’d expect from an elephant rolling over several times to get the petunia scent all over the shoulders (hot date, y’know) or from a moose in heat for a GMC Yukon SUV, thinking that the aroma - however delicate - of petunias would be a good counterpoint to the wafting notes of composted dinosaurs (gasoline). Yeah, I wrote like that all the time. It was ghastly, and it’s even worse since my folks died back in 99 and I have been getting “care packages” from my sister and SIL, who have gone through ALL the stuff in the parents’ house and shipped it off to each of us. “Well, you wrote all this stuff, you may as well have it.” And reading just one or two off the top of the pile shows me how far I HAVEN’T come.

So your lessons on how to tighten up, neaten up, dis-conjugate and un-proliferate the mess I call writing are really REALLY needed.

Thanks ever so much, again, for all the help. DON’T STOP!

Don’t you read aloud with your CPs? Our group does and it’s embarassing. I find myself ratteling it off faster then a blue light special at K-Mart.

Yasmine, Skye has good taste in her reading pleasure.

Kate, I agree with you, this writing stuff is WORK. Curses to Mrs. Fenstimacher, my eleventh grade English teacher.

Oh, Forrest, I know this is an over eighteen site/blog, man all I want to say is; (do I dare? Shit yeah!) If your neightbor has a fucking problem, hmm, I guess she’s fucked! That felt good. And I don’t believe for a minute you or the girls need all this advice.

She doesn’t like the occasional f-word or the damns and hells, but then I’m not putting as many of those in as I used to.

Sloane, you keep this up. “Don’t stop!” I’m learning how to write, here. And Dear God, do I need the lessons!!

Who knew that this writing gig would be so…difficult.

Off to read in the closet.