One could surmise, from the silence following my previous post, that I dipped my toes back in and then ran away to hide. That is only partially true. It turns out that life is really busy, and still not very balanced, and I’m still feeling a bit odd about writing in full sentences instead of 140-character blips.
I ran over a lady with my bicycle last week. That’s always a great way to start a paragraph. I suppose in the interest of accuracy I should say that I ran inTO a lady with my bike, as no part of my bike actually squashed any of her body parts. However, we both ended up on the pavement with various scrapes and bruises, and she was definitely on the bottom of the pile. It’s one of those situations where any number of things could have gone better, including me calling out my presence earlier, but despite that I feel very strongly that when one maneuvers into faster-moving traffic of any kind one ought to look to be sure one is not about to be run over first. This applies to a person stepping out to cross a road, a car changing lanes, or a person walking along a paved multi-use path which has a speed limit and people on bikes, horses, roller blades, and regular old feet all using it at the same time. But apparently not everyone sees the value in this. And they get run into with bikes. Let that be a lesson to you.
And now I don’t know what to talk about next. Odd, how the ability to create a segue between written segments deteriorates when one does not practice it, but my ability to spell and punctuate doesn’t seem to have suffered much. I feel like I should just develop typing Tourette’s and randomly shout out updatey things:
I killed two cacti this year!
All three of our printers are broken!
I’ve been scrapbooking!
My stove and microwave are so advanced they probably combine to make a spaceship!
Yay spring is on its way!
I quit my chauffeuring job!
We get our milk delivered to our house!
Yeah, that’s pretty much all I’ve got for now. Fingers crossed that the next update comes less than seven weeks from now!
I do not recommend spilling hot candle wax on one’s hair.
Not that most people would think it was a good idea, but I will advise you all to be especially careful around head-level liquid wax, because accidental spilling leads to the same result as intentional application.
The front right quadrant of my head is sporting a very attractive white dotted look this afternoon, courtesy of a votive candle I jostled while removing it from a high shelf in the sanctuary after church this morning. I’m starting with removal-by-hand to see if I can get most of it out that way, and then I intend to move on to a fine-toothed comb and a VERY hot shower involving lots of shampoo. Coverage ranges from easy-to-remove splatter bits to fully bonded clumps several inches long.
I will not try ironing it between two layers of paper towels until I have exhausted every other option, because I had hoped to wait another month before renewing my perm and I have a feeling that ironing my hair might negatively affect my fake curls.
I’m far from the first to comment on this story, in which a frustrated British author recently sent chapters of various Jane Austen books to eighteen different publishers to see if she’d have more success than he, but I have a few comments to add.
First of all, sending a published author’s work in to see “whether the classics would do better than your book in today’s market” isn’t exactly a productive route to actually having your work published. It might be mildly informative if you’re imitating that style, but I don’t recommend that anyway. Better to spend your time and money writing and sending out your own work.
And then there’s this quote at the end, from the man who sent the frauds (and thus will likely never be published at all now, but that’s another discussion):
Getting a novel accepted is very difficult today unless you have an agent first. But I had no idea of the scale of rejection poor old Jane suffered.
If eighteen rejections represents a devastating “scale of rejection” then it’s no wonder this guy’s frustrated enough to plagiarize. By my understanding, eighteen’s just warming up, whether submitting to agents or publishers.