Eh, you're an honorary Southerner! It's a mandatory thing, to have tomatoes and so many of them you have to give them away in brown paper bags to all your friends, who give you cucumbers and squash in return. I'd be participating this year, but my dog just ate another freshly-ripe tomato off the plant before I could get to it. Yes, my DOG. Half of my tomato-plant watering is from her drool, as she sniffs each green tomato carefully, checking for ripeness. When I see the lips curl back and the mouth open, I leap out of the house and snatch the tomato, knowing it's almost perfectly ripe...for stealing.
Next year, when I'm in Texas, I think I'm going to plant one tomato plant just for the dog, and the for-human tomato plant will be locked behind chicken wire. Or something.
What, a nonfiction novel like The Celestine Prophecy? That was a huge hit when I owned my bookstore. Despite my eye-rolling in private, I kept it stocked and it kept selling. Only I stocked it in fiction because, damn it, it's fiction--and at least once a week I'd find the copies had been surreptitiously moved to the nonfiction section by 'helpful' customers, some of whom even went to the trouble to make it a face-out.
Grrrrr.
Andy: I come to this thread late, but...
You rock. You so flippin' rock.
I'd say something about the pulseweekly image--probably along the lines of "not hard to do, start with cut/paste the left side, and move slightly to the right, while skewing inward, and then merge as needed, with slight fade"--but I think my brain broke somewhere about two paragraphs into the author's biography. Because, of course, when I am published, I too will include my entire life story and family tree, with many sordid details like my father's arrest in that case with the vacuum cleaner. I'm looking forward to it. I plan to change my date of birth, location, and mother's maiden name according to the tides, my mood, and proximity to ambient light.
But man, I've read fanfiction better than this:
Running down from the stage, my mind exploding with anticipation, I feel his undying heart beat through my soul as never before. Passing Raven in a wind of silence, I leave her standing there. Her screaming inquiries of my destination fall upon deaf ears, as I fail to respond.
Okay, who brought this up again, why did I click on it, and is there soap strong enough to wash out my eyeballs?
| Year | Number of comments posted |
|---|---|
| 2005 | 5 |
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