Blogging All Over The…
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PB Rides The Unicycle!UPDATE from Feb., 2013: 3 years later, the unicycle rests in its corner of the patio, with a tear. I tell it I will return. And I will. But not today.January 1st, 2016
Written To Date…
Monthly Archives: August 2010
I am about ready to record my Moth Radio submission. Also about ready to mail my BB submission tomorrow morning. Feels. Like. I’m! Ploughing. Through. Serious goo. (Said using Captain Kirk cadence.) I’m not as swift as I used to … Continue reading
Look. Fish. They’re staying with us. We are fish-sitting. I feel badly when I turn out their light each evening—one moment it’s daylight on the reef, and in literally the next: darkness. Can that be good? Tomorrow I am buying … Continue reading
Suddenly, we are going to watch a movie because suddenly my husband returned home from work this evening with the movie pictured left and “Casino Royale”, for which he is assigned to watch the beginning of for a certain vital … Continue reading
Tonight I will NOT WRITE so that I may attend book club. This evening’s topic is “The Guernsey Literary And Potato Peel Pie Society”. No one is bringing potato peel pie, but someone is stopping off at a British Shoppe and … Continue reading
I know all about distraction. Writers are always griping about it at conferences and on their writing blogs—about dusting behind headboards and vacuuming behind toilets and taking walks in heatwaves to buy lottery tickets and FBing, IMing, texting, checking email every 5 mintues, about gazing at People.com and clipping toenails and making popsicles and hanging out at Big Foot websites analyzing Big Foot photos and downloading bizarre Big Foot screams, instead of you-know-what. Continue reading
I’m supposed to be right there, working.
A poetry evening as I prepare my BB submission, the deadline approaching faster than—that’s it, my brain just clicked off. It’s only 9:20p.m. I believe the MWO intensive (see previous post) made me more exhausted than when I left for the … Continue reading
I returned from the Writer’s Retreat Intensive (see previous post) only to depart for another intensive involving many mothers away from their husbands and children for 2 days and 2 nights. During this intensive, I did not write. I did, however, … Continue reading
I. I reclined on a chaise longue on a Spanish-style patio (meaning wide, faux-adobe tile and iron and wood furniture), appreciating water chiming from the mouth of a stone lion—not a spooky, Lil’ Orphan Annie-eyed stone lion, but a handsome one—sun and … Continue reading
For the next few days I will be away on a writer’s retreat, an intensive, an all-writing-all-the-time sort of deal—but with my son and no husband, so what this really means is time alone with my Toshiba next to a … Continue reading
9:46 pm. I don’t have it! That gift of easy-going gab. And yet—when I read what I’ve written for Moth Radio’s handy recording-a-submission feature, I carry on for two days instead of the minute they require. Who am I?
Not EROS, but ERRORS, yes, I need a proofreader, one non-computer-generated. I have to work fast, because of the even faster-moving toddler, so there are going to be eros when I write during the day. I mean ERRORS! Arrrrgh.
10:10p.m. Finished typing in my Reagan piece for the Moth Radio submission and wrote the first paragraph of my Marriage piece for 2nd Moth Radio submission—not this marriage, but an earlier marriage, one so very, very early and bizarre I can … Continue reading
Then: morning–brisk and blue, damp grass, cat paw prints on the pergo, budgie whistling at finches picking the white fly from the hibiscus monster outside the kitchen window, the boy enjoying his breakfast, sun, sun, sun. Last night my husband … Continue reading
Translation: My last computer? Dell. The hard drive crashed I swear to the day of its 3 yr. warranty expiration Continue reading
In addition to here: http://www.pbrippey.com and here: http://pbrippeyblogma.com, you can now find me here, right here, right where you are, reading with your suspicions and mistrust and well-guarded interest. Recline. Sip your stiff, p.m. dirty martini. Read the following: What in the … Continue reading