These last few days have been filled with grossness and bad icky feelings way deep down, mostly of a nature directly attributable to being female and potentially fecund. I won't apologize because God. It's not like it's my fault.
Voice Mail Archives
Past editions of Voice Mail, Beth Dunn's newsletter on writing and voice.
Posts by BethDunn:
Bowie.
OK.
Finer than frog's hair
I've been wanting to set the record straight on something for quite some time now.
o frabjous day!
Well, I got an honest-to-god (freelance) job lead today. One that I am, let's say, 88% certain will result in real, paid work. I've been so happy about this prospect all day that I'm actually kind of tired. It's exhausting to receive unexpected good news, and then stroll around all day, tossing it from hand to hand and hoping the other kids are looking when you catch it behind your back.
Dowry.
Today I sent out the final payment for what we've been calling our "marriage debt." (I know, in certain overwrought historical romances, "marriage debt" means something quite different. That's why it's funny.) We still owed some money to the place we rented out for the weekend, and so we paid it.
...and also, I hate shorts.
Despite our recently acquired, and rapidly melting, five inches of snow, I can sense the approach of Spring. It's somewhat attributable, of course, to the yammerheads on radio and TV, who wasted a fair bit of time over the weekend telling us about the "first day of Spring", which allegedly occurred yesterday. But I never really feel it's Spring until it's time to turn our clocks ahead. I'm sure I'm not alone.
The elements of style, baby
Evidence that I can learn new information, and thus get over a previously persistent pet peeve:
What typeface is my parachute?
OK, let's give props where props are due: although I have long admired a few extremely worthy diarists (tequila mockingbird, geese aplenty, felber, and various friends of mine from grad school), the one that actually got me to put fingertips to keyboard was mimi smartypants.
and we're off
Although part of me is convinced that once I start a blog, such a thing will suddenly cease to exist, will become so immeasurably passe and unhip that it is outlawed -- despite this firm belief, I am, indeed, starting one. Mostly, I'm beginning to feel guilty for posting long, story-telling comments in the comment boxes of real bloggers. Any day now I expect to get a nasty email from one of them, telling me to get my own weblog, already, and stop using their precious webspace. Fair enough.