I had to do a new post, if for no other reason than the previous one had all of you in a complete tizz! Goodness, 43 comments, and I'm pretty sure Melissa is gonna punch me in the nose first chance she gets. I've dined with Melissa. Melissa's tough. She's wiry. And she doesn't eat cheese, so in a wrestling match she has the advantage of unclogged arteries.
And then Tammy totally tag-teamed her. And while I haven't met Tammy, so I don't know how her cholesterol would hold up in a brawl, I'm pretty sure they could both take me on accounta I'm more a lover (of pastries and stuff) than a fighter.
So, ha ha, ho ho! Didn't we all have a great, non-confrontational laugh about babies crying in church? Yes, indeedy. That post sure was a side-splitter and was in no way of the "when I see DeNae I'm rearranging her profile picture" ilk.
Glad we cleared THAT up!
And while we're clearing things up, I have a confession: I'm not really speaking on Isaiah, naughty limericks or otherwise, in my class at the CBC shindig. I know, I'm as disappointed as you are. That darned Motherboard. Talk about a fusspot. I even offered to do a mini-class on "Isaiah's Haikus of the Apocalypse". No dice.
So now I have to make up some new story about what I'm doing at the conference.
Hey! Maybe that's it! I'll teach a class on story-telling. My post-graduate studies as a pathological liar will finally pay off! ("Why, Yes, I Did a Little Modeling to Put Myself Through Brain Surgeon School. Why Do You Ask?" was the title of my Master's Thesis.)
It's gonna be SRO, people. Get those tickets while they're hot, hot, hot!
In other news, my novel is coming along nicely. Remember my NaNoWriMo adventure? How can you not remember that? There's a button on my sidebar and everything! I worked so hard my gall bladder fell out! Please try to keep up, for heaven's sake.
Anyway, I've spent the last month or so turning the original compost into...what do you turn compost into, anyway? Oh, that's right. Reality television. So not that. The other thing. A fiction novel.
I've almost reached the point where entire sentences are emerging. A few of them are even huddling together, frightened and alone in this unfamiliar place called "DeNae's manuscript", and without really meaning to, they're creating paragraphs! It's like "The Miracle of Life" meets "Escape From New York". We're talking masterpiece here. Mas. Ter. Piece.
Crash and Melanie and LT have all read chunks of it, and last time I checked, none of them had been admitted to the ER suffering from acute crappola poisoning. I'm taking that as a positive sign.
With the Pulitzer money, I'm going to buy myself an infinite number of monkeys. I'd like my next novel to have more of a Shakespearean feel to it, and besides, I've earned it.
My mom visited over MLK weekend. She is such a kick. I come from a long line of kicks, truth be told. She shared with me the story of how my great uncle LeGrand, whose nickname - I'm not even kidding about this - was PUZ, and his new bride, TILL (still not kidding) spent their wedding night on a mattress in the TRUNK OF THEIR CAR!
It hardly bears thinking about. (But "Till" is now a character in my book, because, really, how could she not?)
And that's all I have to say about that.
In fact, as you have no doubt noticed, I didn't have much to say from the get-go. I was just trying to stop all those moms and grandmas of naughty children from lighting the torches and passing out the farm implements. I never know what to wear when entertaining a lynch mob.
Stay warm, my darlings! And remember what Gandhi said: "The tantrum-throwing toddler you pour a cup of Benadryl into and then lock in a broom closet may be the tantrum-throwing toddler you save."
Gaaaah! Who let Melissa in here??