If you've been reading my other entries in this blog, you already know that I live in Denver, Colorado. I went online last night and did a job search in Scotland. My motivation is this: I'm within one year of being eligible to retire. I'm seriously thinking about doing it, but I have reservations about living on a retirement income. What I would love to do would be to write my novel, be able to sell it, have it become a best-seller, and suppliment my income with the royalties so that ...
As of today I am a published poet! I didn't think they were serious, but I recieved the actual hardback copy today in the mail. It's only one poem of mine in a collection of numerous poems. I only sent it as a throwaway experiment, and now I wish I had sent a better poem--but it's there, in print. Now I can just sit back and watch the accolades roll in. Right?
As the wind howls outside my window; spattering the pane with rain and animating the trees with such a force that I fear for their little, young branches, will snap; I sit in "life skills" and a thought has occurred to me about modern teenage vocabulary. I was happily playing the daily puzzle on Shockwave when my teacher came in and asked if I had completed my UCAS application. I answered with the few vague words such as Yep and no. Upon being asked the same question by my second form ...
I think I know what my problem is. I have no space to call my own. See, when I lived in LA, I had my own bedroom. The walls were covered in posters and drawings, a string of keychains served as the pull-chain for my ceiling fan, the lightswitch turned on the radio instead of the light, and I had a drafting table to sit at and write, draw, or contemplate to my heart's content. Now, I have a dorm with drab furniture that I am not allowed to remove, walls ...
Russ the Provider —Russell, I need you to wash these eggs and take them to the Forster’s by ten. Alice is making a quiche for the potluck, and she’ll need them by at least ten o’clock. Russ, sitting at the kitchen table long after breakfast had been cleared away, looked up from his cup of coffee. —Where are you gonna hide yerself? Why don’cha take ‘em yerself, and make yer cass’role over there. You do enough cookin’ at the Forster’s ...
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