Shakespeare’s 444th, Mama’s 78th BIRTHDAY

Went to Black-Eyed Pea restaurant for Mama’s birthday. She decided on take-out so we could sit in the park and sneeze under the native elms and watch three little kids fight over the swings. How restful! But we also dropped by the mall to pay Sears for that lovely dishwasher and Macy’s for all those skirts that are too tight across my a** to wear at the moment *sob*. To make up for it, I picked up a white stretch denim skirt one size larger *bawl* that covers said anatomical feature properly, but which Mama said increased its apparent size by around double. *wah* Don’t care . . . will wear with tunics not-tucked-in for the moment. Back to Sekrit Starvation Plan #3 ASAP. Mama tried on 17 pairs of shoes, all of which didn’t fit. *wail* Most of them were on sale, too. The ones at WallyWorld the other day were too wide for her and gaped open, so she wouldn’t get those, either. So I got her two lottery tickets instead.

I wish one of our neighbors would go on vacation for a while so I could watch their house and see if I can kick in the pool. The physical therapy man always said I should try to do a bit in the pool *if* I could get in and out of it, and now that I can walk up and down stairs somewhat (surely those pool steps would be OK), I want to try. Maybe we can go to a motel and stay overnight so I can try out the pool. It’s plenty warm enough on many days, but too early for any public pools to be open. O’course the water’s gonna be *COLD*!

On the agent/submissions front: no news is good news.
Silence is golden.


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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