“I hadn’t planned to pull his head off. I bent and searched for body parts under the desk.” @Buttersleybakes https://medium.com/@CaroleMarples/i-hadnt-planned-to-pull-his-head-off-i-bent-and-searched-for-body-parts-under-the-desk-780b5a85381
A young man loved ping pong
He also liked Mah Jong
But what was lewd
And oh so crude
He’d only wear a thong.
Call of Saul
There was an old man called Saul
Who had a shrill sort of call
What’s he saying?
Now he’s praying
Oh, I think he’s trapped a ball
Two little limericks I wrote a while ago whilst going through an aspirational phase. Dwelling on the practicalities held me back.
I want to go live in a zoo
Have lunch with a tiger or two
As visitors pay
It’s all on display
So where would I go for a pooh?
photo by Paula Borowsska
Reach For The Sky
I want to go live in a tree
Be mistress of all that I see
I’d reach so high
And touch the sky
But where would I go for a pee?
Photo by Noah Silliman
I want to go live on the moon
It really should happen quite soon
My life is a mess
With plenty of stress
I need to get going by noon
I think I’ll go live in a hole
Dig down deep and act like a mole
I’ll keep myself neat
Pedicure my feet
But my bum’ll be black as coal
I haven’t posted in a while. It’s been upward of what…three weeks? It’s egregious—yes, I am well-aware. I could start rambling off trivial reasons and pitiful excuses, but it really all boils down to one malefic factor.
I really didn’t feel like it.
There. I said it. I didn’t feel like writing a blog post, so I didn’t. There are a number of tumultuous things running around in both my personal and professional lives right now, and I just couldn’t muster the emotional energy to write about writing.
Bizarre, eh? That’s how you know there’s something really wrong.
However, I am not at liberty to tell you about the wrong thing, so you’re just going to have to give me the grace I’m trying to give myself. I’m knee-deep in the book of Ecclesiastes (among many others) right now, and the chorus of the third chapter still tolls in the…
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These two limericks are not based on anyone I know. #justsaying
Mike’s a strange sort of man
Make of this what you can
He sleeps in one shoe
Will only wear blue
And keeps his teeth in a van
Gary’s a man who tells lies
And thinks it’s just about size
He boasts all about
What he calls his spout
So, it’s tiny I would surmise
There was a man of royal blood
Who lived among the wise and good
Now, I don’t mean to sneer
But one’s choice of head gear
Why not stick to a crown or hood?
Really helpful and witty as always.
WHY AND HOW YOU SHOULD BE PITCHING
The only reason I got on Twitter was to do #pitmad. I’ll be completely honest about that. I can’t tell if I love or hate the platform, and whether or not it hates or loves me remains to be seen.
But this is not a post about Twitter.
This is a post about pitching, and that just happens to tie into Twitter very nicely.
There are many ways to find an agent or a publisher, but pitching contests should never be discounted. One of my friends recently took a poll of her followers and found that 18% of the authors who replied hooked their agent via a pitching contest. That’s almost one out of five. That’s a lot of people.
Most of these contests are found on Twitter, and the paradigm has to be Brenda Drake’s #pitmad. The rules are very simple:…
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A quick little poem, off the cuff. I usually let them fester for days, but this had time restraints due to a competition…Life from the point of view of Mrs Easter Bunny.
His Wife Put It About
There was an Easter Bunny
Who’s tail was soft and runny
It saddened his wife
Their lack of sex life
But he just thought it funny
The wife she started a fling
He’d be out delivering
She met up with Chuck
A pleasant young buck
And she stoked his ding-a-ling
The Easter Bunny found out
Enraged, he issued a clout
His tail grew in size
To all their surprise
Too late, now. She’s up the spout
I’m pretty thrilled to have this piece in Huffpost Personal published today! Yesterday, International Women’s Day, was the anniversary of my surgery, but the conversation I recount in the first paragraph of this article happened exactly a year ago today. How’s that for the Universe lining things up!
I’d like to thank my dear new friend Brenda Keesal for connecting me with Noah Michelson, the amazing editor at Huffpost who took this on. Do pay Brenda a visit at her blog burns the fire: her gorgeously told stories of life and death and especially loveare always an adventure of wondrous inspiration as she shines her brilliant, unique light into the odd corners of our beautiful world.