A (woefully) Brown Christmas

    There's nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.  ~Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith

       Substitute "damn" every time you're inclined to write "very;" your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.  ~Mark Twain

      The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.  ~Mark Twain

     I think the problem with my writing is that I will spend hours waiting in vain for lightning to strike when a thousand lightning bugs will light up my life just as well. They will give the lightning a place to strike later on in the writing process.


     What's with all of this brown mud? Really? Where's the snow? The ice? The frozen ponds? The ice-crusted windshield- well I don't particularly want that last one. For people who live in Louisiana, winter is just another time with mud. Lots and lots of mud. If we get anything besides rain, it's whitish sleet that can, if one stretches their imagination the length of the Mississippi river, be called snow. If you're desperate. Which I all too often am.

     Enough with the three word sentences. Work on my ebook is currently nonexistent. I have to find a person well-versed in grammar to go over my chapters as I write. And also I need a person who reads almost as much as me to criticize the heck out of my plot. Or of the lack of one. So much work to be done before anywhere can be reached progress-wise. I think I am in grave need of a book on writing and grammar. Thankfully, my beloved mum is also a writer, and has a multitude of these. Thank the ever-loving heavens for the oddly strong resemblance between my dear mutter and I! Some may question my use of the word "oddly". These people were clearly not at my great-grandmother's house last Christmas.
I use the word "oddly" because, after all, how many people can honestly say that they've been mistaken for their mother? By one of their mother's aunts no less.
Granted, her eyesight does not rival the sharpest of the class Aves. Her vanity prevents her from donning that ever-present pair of spectacles that dangle from her neck. All of this taken into consideration though, how many people have my unique claim to fame?
Thankfully, my Mere is quite a stunning woman, so it's no hardship to be mistaken for her. But what a thing to say to a sixteen-year-old.

     Even though I've not made much progress, there is a person who has made me quite happy in a way that is easily overlooked. I'd love to thank Erika from Cafe Fashionista for always commenting on my infrequent posts. It's so nice to get regular comments from such a successful blogger! And one with such impeccable taste.
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And here's the required random Christmas video!