…my morning nap with Stanley.
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…my morning nap with Stanley.
I have been experimenting with putting my independently published books in a Mass Market format – in other words, 4.12 x 6.25 – the normal paperback size you see at a book store or big box store.
Strangely enough, I can only do the smaller book at Amazon. At Barnes & Noble you have to use the 6 x 9 size. The larger size is nice if the book is long, but not so bueno if the book is a shorter one.
I ordered two proof copies of The Lottery – Furry and two proof copies of Tapestry. I wanted to see what a shorter book looked like as well as Tapestry, which came out to 474 pages. Both copies say Not for Resale across the top, but otherwise look like a finished paperback. Since both books look great I’m going to convert all the Amazon print versions to the smaller size.
Do any of you want either one of the proof copies? (I will autograph them.) Just send me an email to email@example.com and put BOOKS in the subject line. Please indicate your choice: The Lottery – Furry or Tapestry. I’ll draw the names tomorrow around noon.
I do apologize for this post. However, I decided that since I discovered this I should share it with you. Why should I have to know this alone?
The above link is to an article about a woman who collapsed in her pig pen, either by fainting or having a seizure. They ate her. Yep. Ate her.
Of course I had to research the subject. Do pigs often eat people? Well, y’all, they do. I found about five different stories about people being eaten by pigs.
Okay, aren’t they supposed to be really smart? And what happened to that cute aspect? I don’t know about you, but I’ll never think they’re that cute again.
Auntie Karen occasionally has insomnia. She sleeps three hours, wakes up bright eyed and bushy tailed, and finds it impossible to go back to sleep.
When those times come – as they do when she’s beginning a new book, for some odd reason – she sighs, picks up her laptop, then turns on the TV as background noise.
She did this last night. She scrolled to Netflix, clicked on a program about lousy plastic surgery, then opened her laptop.
After working for a few minutes, she looked up from her screen to find lady parts spread over her five foot TV.
Y’all, Auntie Karen has seen porn. Auntie Karen has been known to be very cosmopolitan in her day. However, she was never concentrating on the lady or her lady parts, if you get her drift. She was more intrigued with the choo-choo, not the tunnel.
However, Auntie Karen has now seen the Labia Majora and the Labia Minora of a perfect stranger as the new plastic surgeon delicately stroked the folds of a woman whose head was not in a bag.
Evidently she wanted a perfect vagina and the first plastic surgeon screwed it up. (No pun intended.)
Auntie Karen is going to tell y’all a little secret. Most men don’t know their way around a labia major or minora and couldn’t tell you which was which. So, why did the woman want a perfect vagina? Was she going to cast it in bronze? Take pictures of it? Or, or, or plaster it all over Auntie Karen’s five foot TV at 3:00 AM?
What the pluperfect hell was this dingbat thinking to agree to spread it wide? Seriously, is there no such thing as class anymore?
Two thoughts that filtered into Auntie Karen’s wide eyed brain. At this point Auntie Karen found it very difficult to work, let alone fall back to sleep. (Visions of labias dancing in her head.)
I am a Dewy Blossom in the Garden of Life. Regardless of my age I refuse to admit that I’m, ahem, older. Yes, time is marching past, but it does so without my cooperation. I have given up in some respects. Gravity will pull my skin down. Body parts will settle where I never intended them to settle. Yet my spirit is indomitable. I will be a Dewy Blossom in the Garden of Life until the day I stick my spoon in the wall. (Isn’t that a great expression? It means to kick the bucket, which is another great expression.)
All that said, I will admit to being of an age when my education meant having to learn multiplication tables, all sorts of dates, recite large sections of the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, and Shakespeare. We weren’t allowed to use calculators when they did get produced small enough to afford one or be able to carry it.
The other day I happened to run across a poem, Invictus, that I was forced to memorize. I think, if you added them all up, I had to memorize about fifty pieces of literature or poetry during my elementary or high school years. I can still recite Mark Anthony’s speech from Julius Cesar and the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. I have other bits of poetry floating around in my brain.
How about you? I’ll bet you remember this, too:
Invictus, by William Earnest Henley