Writer’s Group With a BLOG!?!?!?!

A Writer’s Group,
With a blog?
What? Really?  These Things happen???
OMG!!!!

Yes. The 21st century comes up with some crazy details and ideas.
It’s fun. I like living in this time.
We have information thrown at us from every angle of every day and unless we’re out in a field we’re bombarded by it. So, if we’re bombarded, why not add to the bombardment, and create more of a shell shock for those of us unwise to the glory of ear plugs?

The days here as of late have been beautiful. Sunny, warm, no rain. Light breeze. Perfect for gardening, being outside, going to the ball game, havin a bbq!  The days lengthen, and we enjoy them for the deep of winter is not as fun as it seems.

I learned yesterday that Robins listen to the ground, and hear the worms before they reach and grab it from its dirt abode. How amazing is that?

I’m pretty excited. I think I got the start of the next Great American Novel brewing. And a collection of short stories are sure to be along as well. In the meantime, go find the lilacs and smell them. They’re almost done blooming.

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Posted on April 16, 2010, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. As are the Jonquils
    but i guess i am like unto the witch hazel
    blooming in the dead of winter . . .

    And now the long climb back to being fully alive
    Spring is such an uphill climate . . .

  2. As I told Mister Pussums, look cat, a list.
    Even responding to a blog post can be a catalyst to write some fragment of a bigger story that may or may not ever reach those bright paper spitting presses hidden behind the dark satanic mills. “Spring is such an uphill climate.”
    I love it!

    I was mulching the Pecans, as one does when listening to a book on tape recording of Ulysses (I can’t sit still long enough to digest the whole seventeen courses of that great baggy Franco-Irish meal) when a joke popped into my note pad. A part of a character sketch, perhaps? Thyme will smell; time will tell, and William Tell will take his time.

    Alfred Cherry – the furniture maker’s son they joked. Alf didn’t get it, at first, but quickly passed through the mild smile stage to the no-no-no-not-again phase of hearing his name taken in a humorous vein.
    “You wonder what’s it all about, Alfie? Let me tell you, I saw an advert in the Evening Mail for your dad’s work. Yes, it had these little black and white pictures with captions like: Cherry table, Cherry chest of drawers, Cherry bedside table, Cherry trouser press. So Alf, how much does it cost for a Cherry trouser press?”
    Pity poor Alfie.

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