Tag Archives: Last of the Mohicans

And May All Your Turkeys Be Bright

It is 197-something and there are cats on the kitchen counter pulling apart the cooked bird with their claws and fangs. It is 199-something and a slobbery Rottweiler mix has hold of a turkey leg and the entire baking pan with turkey … Continue reading

Posted in Avoiding My Writing, Fiction, Santa Barbara, Writer's Angst, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment