Plant where it ain’t blooming

I think I’ve accomplished what I intended when I decided to play in this round of “The Real LJ Idol.” My purposes were to (1) find more people whose journals I liked to read, and (2) find people who wanted to read my journal and become permanent readers/friends who would communicate with me and be sympatico. The people in the competition who have friended me already are the ones who “get me.” The others have either looked and didn’t feel a “click,” or didn’t look because they have a large enough circle to handle already, or possibly saw compatibility issues and weren’t interested. So that’s the story, morning glory. My staying in the competition beyond this point would be silly, as the efforts would be going into the bit bucket and taking energy away from my new projects. I’m not going to suddenly break through and charm the rest of ’em; “if you don’t know me by now, you will never know me,” and so forth.

After the initial disappointment of not going all the way to the final five, I kind of waxed philosophical about the inevitable sort-out and dust-up that’s coming on Monday. I hope wax is OK to use on that kind of surface, as it isn’t SUPPOSED to be shiny. But anyhow, I have two new writing projects that I’m immersed in and that seem to be going pretty well, and I need to focus my energies on that. Similarly, I need to redirect my journal entries into topics that I want to do and can do well, such as the fiction writing/craft posts, the “Mama and her gang of redneck knitting card-player friends” posts that illuminate aspects of the human condition, and the whining.

Also, from now on (assuming I get kicked off, as appears likely), instead of doing a post about some topic I don’t relate to, I can say, “Nyaah-nyaah, I didn’t have to post about My Favorite Canker Sore Moment!” *wink*

Here’s what we planted today:
(actually, this is what it looked like LAST SUMMER. We hope it’ll do this again)

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Author: shalanna

Shalanna: rhymes with "Madonna" and "I wanna," and is not a soundalike with "Hosanna" or "Sha-Na-Na." Aging hippie with long hair, husband, elderly mother, and yappy Pomeranian. I've been writing since I could hold a crayon. I started with fiction, which Mama said was "lying." “Don’t tell stories,” she would admonish, in Southern vernacular. “That's all in your imagination!” When grownups said this, they were not approving. So, shamed, I stopped telling stories for a few years--rather, I stopped letting anyone read them. I'm married to a fellow computer nerd who doesn't really like hearing about writing, but who reads sf/fantasy and understands the creative drive. I'm actually a nonconformist/hippie still wearing bluejeans and drop earrings and the Alice-in-Wonderland hair with headbands and sandals. Favorite flavor is chocolate/orange, favorite color is either Dreamsicle orange (cantaloupe) or bubble-gum pink, favorite musical is either Bye Bye Birdie, Rocky Horror, or The Producers . . . wait, I also love The Music Man. Is this getting way too specific and irrelevant yet? Obvious why I don't sell a ton of flash fiction, isn't it? To define oneself, I always say, it is good to make a list. How about a booklist? Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird Frank and Ernestine Gilbreth, Cheaper by the Dozen C.S.Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (all the Narnia books) J.R.R.Tolkien,The Hobbit/LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy Gail Godwin, The Odd Woman F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby J. D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye (before dismissing it, actually read it) George Orwell, 1984 Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle Donna Tartt, The Secret History Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn James Allen, As A Man Thinketh Mark Winegardner, Elvis Presley Boulevard James Thurber, My Life and Hard Times The Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum Winnie-the-Pooh/House at Pooh Corner, A. A. Milne Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie The KJV and NIV Bible (each translation has its glories)

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