My Writer Bloggy Woggy: Our Man Gets Felt Up by the TSA

Who am me?

I own a smoking jacket. An ancient rat terrier growls toothless from a pillow near the fire. A wind blasts the walls of my cottage bringing in freezing rain from the sea.

You've come to me for answers; your first small step toward writer-wellness. Your first small, impish footprint along the shining path - el cendero luminoso - to healing.

I love you.

I mean that.

You must first set aside your preconceived notions about the publishing undistry. That's righty-right, it's an undistry. If you're not feeling algebraically challenged you've noticed I have transposed the i and the u.

I have done so without your permission.

The world did not blow up. Did you notice?

I do this to make a point. I have placed myself in the middle of things, and you out toward the edges, the periphery. Don't know if I've spelled that right.

Then there is hope for you.You will transpose back the i for the u, when you, the learner become the maestro. Which shall happen over time, if you are worthy.

First lesson out of the way, let's take you a bit further in my next -proximo - posty-wosty. Keep updated by including yourself in my stream of twatterings

My Writer Bloggy Woggy

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Our Man Gets Felt Up by the TSA

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