Everyone is an editor. I write too many personal humour pieces, and my fans write in to demand more politics. I write too many political pieces and people write in - pitchforks in hand -to demand more humour pieces. Is there no pleasing some people?
Well, I'm at your service. A writer is like a literary prostitute of sorts. You want me to write the first chapter of War and Peace on my belly with blueberry syrup? I'll do it, providing someone has a crumpled up 20 dollar bill to give me for my troubles.
I'm returning to work on December 19th, which is just about right for me. I was starting to get cabin fever from being cooped up in my apartment. One week, I was so overcome with boredom, I began to think I was some deranged version of Gandalf from Lord Of The Rings, and stood in my open apartment door in a tattered bathrobe wielding a golf club yelling "You shall not pass!" to passing strangers. No one took much notice. I live on Main street, and that kind of stuff is pretty much par for the course.
I am presently at my folks in Bathurst relaxing and enjoying life. I miss the lovely miss Claire but I'll be back in Moncton tomorrow.
Planning a trip to Boston in for February with my brother, Claire's sister and their respective partners. Hope to head out to Braintree to check out Peacefield, President John Adams's old haunt. It's one of the Founding Father's residences we haven't yet seen.
Big announcement to make soon, so stay on your toes, like a midget at a urinal.
Take care, my loyal and trusted readers...and those of you who can't be trusted as well.
Here's a little a treat for you!
Cordially
Joe
No comments:
Post a Comment