At last I have decided to commit to the wonderful world of blogging to rant or wonder in prose about the meaning of life, the fickle minds of editors, and whether I need to give up chocolate.
By way of introduction, I am a middle-aged lady in graduate school, pursuing little initials and dots to frolic with my name upon completion of the program. I want to document the process of grooming myself to be a writer . . . more likely self-published . . . and to freely express my views on any subject I wish, er, until the Paddy Wagon pulls up to my door. No longer will I need to mumble under my breath about injustices done, nor scribble snatches of wisdom on the backs of grocery lists. Thanks to the internet anyone can shred the English language into little bits for strangers to read, and reveal openly their psychic frailties. I promise that this will be a place to find original stupidity and maybe a laugh or two.
The topics I am interested may click with you as well, such as: writing, self-publishing, sending off work to kids just out of college who read 50,000 words a minute and in seconds decide if your work is worthy to leave the slush pile, UFOs and the mystique of people who hang out with bulbous-headed creatures that prod them with turkey basters, (or was that licorice whips?), graduate school blues, comedy writing, fantasy writing, 2012 and the best place to grow produce in an Ice Age if the prophets are right, etc.
Once my website is up, those interested in gafawing or marvelling (only marvellers desired) at my first three chaps of some books I have self-published are invited to wander over.
Lastly, for those who just love to contemplate their creativity in the arts, be it writing or licking balloons in public while dancing to Dean Martin's greatest hits, I ask you to visit often. We might have things in common . . . sans balloon-licking.
This is the first push from the Shores of Aspiration. Good writing to all.
Let the ship leave the harbour . . .
