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There are days I MUST write.
There are days when it's a chore.
There are days when what you wrote doesn't fit...like today!
There are days when I gleefully delete yesterday.
I've been enjoying it...you have a styl;e that appeals...I thank you. And while I'm at it...ant critic who can't read typo isn't much on imagination.
I am aware that not all my readers read my blog...but I must confess.
The cabin is in Wyoming...my daughter lives in Kentucky...but...this is MY universe...so, they live "Just across the way a piece and on the next rise...you can see their smoke. So...where I write about doesn't exist. They might be real places...in your life...they're all part of my imagination. The rifle is in the closet.
Figment said, What?
I bought a bunch of jelly beans...Orange tastes like orange, red tastes like strawberry or cinnamon or other red fruit. Blue tasted like blueberry...green was spearmint or wintergreen, black was licorice...I was working my way through the bag and found pink. I wondered what pink tastes like.
Pussy pink tastes like pussy. Figment said.
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