Write Naked, Exfoliate, Then Flash ‘em

Put your butt in that chair, pick up your pen, and fire up your computer.

And as you do, strip down, bare it all, and write naked.

Bare everything, even if it’s saggy, hairy and a bit too flabby for your liking. You don’t have to show anyone your naked writing; it’s for the privacy of your own room or bathroom. This is the writing that, after working through all the layers of clothing, is what is underneath - your heart and soul.

Who cares about the pimples, bunions, warts or other weird-growths-we-will-not-discuss. They can always be removed later. Just keep writing - write naked.

Drop your Drawers – Lose Your Inhibitions

Authentic naked writing from the depths of your gut means ignoring all the restrictions swirling around in your head. Lose the bras, the belts, the garters, the corsets – anything restrictive and binding. Lose those inhibitions – including your drawers.

Those drawers are the final step - if you’re truly going to bare it all. Like the tiniest seed of doubt in the back of your mind, they are the hardest to let go. Self-doubt and second-guessing will limit and cramp your writing if you don’t take a deep breath and ignore whatever else is in your head. Be brave and bold, and let go –of your hold on your boxers. No one has to see anything if you don’t want them to.

So drop ‘em – and write.

So Ya Wanna Show it Off?

Your new-found freedom has released you, and you have decided to submit your work – yourself – to agents or publishers. GREAT! You are braver than you thought! And even better, you (hopefully) have a writing partner or editor to peek at your work for you.

But before you show your partner or editor, get out the tweezers and depilatories and start editing. If you intend on putting it all out THERE, you need to give your work a total body overhaul. But keep in mind - your naked writing is NOTHING to be ashamed of. This is YOU; who YOU are.

Your naked writing needs to be showered, shaved, and tweezed within an inch of its life – edited like there’s no tomorrow. Like those who go to the aesthetician for buffing, polishing and removing of the unwanted, unnecessary and redundant, your writing needs the same kind of treatment.

Everyone needs a good haircut and nail trimming now and then.

Exfoliate, Exfoliate, Exfoliate

You have removed every hair visible, and you have sent your work to your writing partner or editor. This can be scary - this first REVEAL. Don’t let modesty get in the way, covering up those sensitive areas with a towel. Don’t start making excuses for this roll here, that flab there. They have to see it all if they are going to help you. They will find the hairs you missed and the warts between your toes. Let them exfoliate your work. Don’t let their comments get you down; learn from them and improve yourself – your writing.

But as you hesitate dropping the towel in exposing your work, remember to ask yourself: how badly do you desire publication? How badly do you want to share and be heard by more than just your cat? Your peers won’t bite; they want you as beautiful as possible. And when they have finished exfoliating your work, listen to their beauty tips, go soak in the tub, and exfoliate some more.

Time to Flash ‘em

You have primped, preened and perfected your work, becoming brave and bold with your naked writing. You should be proud of yourself! Look at how far you have come since first dropping your drawers! Liposuction worked (less is more, remember), and you have rid your writing of all the unwanted stuff. Your lean, fat-free work is ready to submit to publishers.

But before licking the stamp or sending the email, ask yourself; with all the tweezing, exfoliating and liposuction, have you kept the YOU in your writing?

Take care to not jeopardize the YOU in your naked writing. Don’t try to be like anyone else. Forget face-lifts, injections, implants, and Botox. They might look great on the surface, but your naked writing - your authentic writing - would be lost in the silicone.

So take a deep breath, forget about injections or implants, and send out your heart, soul, and your naked self. Flash agents and publishers your best, and only your best. You have come this far – why stop now? Just do it!

Don’t Shimmy Into Those Undies Just Yet...

You have taken a deep breath and bravely, and confidently, submitted your work - and now you wait. Get dressed and head out for a celebratory something-or-other with a writing buddy - you deserve it! But that’s it. Don’t sit around waiting in your comfy undies, covering up everything. Get naked and get writing.

Enjoy it NOW!

It was 5:30 in the morning, and my world as I knew it was about to come crashing down. Everyone, including the cat and the fish, was still asleep; I was on my own.

Through puffy eyes I watched the news, and something the newscaster said woke me up faster than 10 cups of coffee.

The hardware store, Canadian Tire – a part of Canadian history - is getting rid of Canadian Tire money.

WHAT?? How could they do this to me?

I love Canadian Tire money. I mean, I LOVE IT.

For those of you who don’t know, Canadian Tire first opened in Toronto, Ontario in 1922. In 1961, as a customer loyalty incentive, ‘paper money’ was handed out - in denominations of 5, 10, 25, and 50 cents, as well as 1 dollar bills – the amount distributed based on a percentage of the purchase. The intention was to draw customers back to the store and use the money as ‘cash’ towards their next purchase. The incentive is still going strong.

But the company has decided to uproot this Canadian currency icon, and gear towards an electronic loyalty program – same thing, different method. And their decision sent me into a tizzy.

I thought about it all day; those coloured bills corrupted my every action. I poked out my eye with the mascara brush. I almost left the coffee shop with my coffee - black! While slicing paper in the paper-cutter at work – you know the kind with the big-arm blade – I cut my employee ID tag in half. In HALF, I tell you!

The bills were still clouding my senses much later as I tried riding the bus using my library card instead of my bus pass.

Oh, I cannot, CANNOT take much more of this.

So I had a plan. I had to find out if this - this ATROCITY - was true. I mean, newscasters CAN get things wrong. Right?

Lucky for me, a Canadian Tire store is at the bus stop where I get off. Mentally urging the bus driver to go faster, I knew that all I had to do was confirm the absurdity of this NEWS with the store manager, and all would be right in my world. See? Easy.

I did not run. I serenely and sedately walked into the store, and just as serenely and sedately, walked up and down the aisles looking for the manager. AHA! Found him!

I calmly and casually walked up to him, and asked him my burning question.

“Tell me – TELL me it isn’t SO! Are you really getting rid of Canadian Tire money?” I crumpled to the floor, sobbing and wailing – he ended up calling the paramedics.

Sorry, I got a bit carried away. What I actually asked was:

“Excuse me sir, but is it true that your fine company is eliminating Canadian Tire money in favour of a new electronic customer loyalty program?” I batted my eyelashes a few times, just in case.

He blankly said, “Yes.”

I stumbled out of the store without buying anything. He must be wrong, HE MUST BE WRONG! JUST because HE’S the manager cannot POSSIBLY mean he knows everything, right? I’ll show him. I’ll email the company – take it straight to the top!

And I did.

And the kind lady in somewhere-Canada promptly wrote me back - with the same answer.

It’s true. IT’S ALL TRUE! Why are they doing this to me?

I save the ‘dollars,’ hoarding them like chocolate. Like a miser I hide them, fearful that (gasp!) another family member will steal them. I am not greedy; truly I am not. I am just saving them for a rainy day.

For a day when funds are low and a summer toy (squirt gun, badminton birdies, etc) is desperately needed for a bored kid, or for a day when a bottle of motor oil will surely fix a sputtering car. Or what if I need something to cheer me and FINALLY cash in and get the 10-in-one hammer I have dreamed about for ages?

But those days never came.

I squirrel away ‘special things’ to save for a rainy day – just in case. And more often than not, I realize, those days never come, and it’s too late to enjoy.

I save things to use only on special occasions. I moved in the summer and found a velveteen dress I bought about 15 years ago with the pricetag still on it. I was saving it for a something special – a special occasion. Why didn’t I just wear it, and enjoy it, then? If I wore it now, I’d look like an idiot – out of date and out of style. And my good china? It has so much dust on it from 'saving' it, I don't know what it looks like anymore.

I save everything for various reasons; for a 'special occasion,' for a 'rainy day,' or 'just in case.' The reasons are endless, and I never enjoy the NOW. Just use IT (whatever it is) NOW and don’t wait for seasons/styles/trends to pass before it gets too late.

So I ate a pound (or two) of chocolate to calm down, and after rolling around in the piles of great wealth I worked so hard to save, I pocketed my $9.15 (comprised partly of 58, 5 cent bills), and skipped back to the store with a new found intention – enjoy it NOW!

And bought kitty litter.

(oh, and I saved a few bills – just in case)

Writing Like the 60’s

While I was lying on the floor of the Royal BC Museum in Victoria, BC, I realized I had a lot to learn from the 60’s, John Lennon, and a famous car.

And why was I lying on the floor, you ask? I was taking pictures of a car, of course.

Tourists stepped over and around me, and I could tell from their expressions reflected in the highly-polished chrome, they likely assumed I was some high-class photo-journalist.

How could they not? With my pink digital camera – it fits perfectly in my purse beside a pack of gum of the same size – and my body contorted to weird positions solely in the name of getting the most PERFECT artistic shot, I was definitely a ‘pro.’

Or maybe the chrome warped their reflected expressions and they were actually giving me weird looks.

But I didn’t care as I was doing my ‘thing;’ doing what I wanted. And I didn’t care what they thought.

I was practically nose to nose with a door handle that had been grasped by members of The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Moody Blues, Bob Dylan, and countless others beyond my social circle – if I had been born during that time, that is. They did what they wanted, wrote about what they wanted, and in turn, we are still singing their songs.

The museum is the proud keeper of one of John Lennon’s numerous cars, a Rolls Royce Phantom V. Purchased in 1965, Lennon eventually had the Valentine’s black paint job covered by the ornate yellow, blue and red floral design the car is now famous for. The European flair of the design is reflective of the artists who painted it; a Dutch team of gypsy artists who originally painted a wagon that sat in Lennon’s back yard were commissioned to do the artwork on the car. Lennon also had the car fitted with a sound system, TV, fridge, and phone, and the back seat was made to a convertible double bed. Pre-paint job, the car carried the Beatles to meet the Queen to receive their MBE medals – Members of the Order of the British Empire.

Needless to say, the car has ‘been around.’ After it lived the rock ‘n roll life, Lennon and his wife Yoko Ono donated the car to a museum for a tax credit - much needed to pay off a few debts. After sitting in storage for a few years, the car eventually made its way to Vancouver, BC when it was purchased by Mr. Jimmy Pattison, Vancouver business man, for $2,299,000. It was on display at Vancouver’s Expo ’86 – a mere 6 years after John Lennon’s death – and was then given as a gift by Mr. Pattison to the Transportation Museum of British Columbia in Cloverdale, BC. It lived at the museum in Cloverdale from 1987 to 1993, when it was then moved to the Royal BC Museum in Victoria, BC.

Which is where I was, lying on the floor, and having deep, psychedelic thoughts about how I can apply John Lennon, the 60’s, and the car, to writing.

The era, and the flamboyantly painted car, are truly symbolic of how we, as writers, should write; vibrantly, passionately, and without care. When Lennon was out cruising the streets one day, a British woman smacked the yellow car with her umbrella and screamed, “You swine, you swine! How dare you do this to a Rolls-Royce!” Did he let that bother him?

Forget about everyone else. Forget about what your mother, father, siblings, great aunt or the hamster will think. Ignore the internal editor in your head saying ‘I shouldn’t write THAT.’ If you don’t write truthfully, from your heart, it will show.

Inducing a 'purple haze' to foster creativity is not my thing, and I don't intend on burning my bra anytime soon (this is 2011, after all), but maybe applying the same ways of thinking of those times - not letting fear and censorship smother passion and conviction - will have folks reading my work for generations to come.

Imagine all the possibilities.

Peace, man.

Frozen for Now

I had a teensy-weensy bit of a hissy-fit.

With my hair flying out of control, the pots and pans acquiring a few dents in my angst, and the cupboard doors left barely hanging on their hinges, I counted to ten and gently asked, “Where is my mini baking pan?”

3 pairs of eyes tried to mask their terror.

“I dunno.” Those words mumbled in unison made my toenails sizzle – they shouldn’t have said that.

And they shouldn’t have shrugged their shoulders, either. That was a BAD idea.

Out I stormed to the deep-freezer in the garage. My quest? Frozen peas. I also figured sticking my head in the freezer would help cool me off and help me put the missing pan into perspective. Peas now, pan later.

I opened the freezer door, the sudden whoosh of cold air instantly doing the trick. Before I could start hollering ‘Where ARE the stupid peas!?’, something caught my eye; or should I say some things caught my eye. The pan, the peas and my sizzling toenails were suddenly forgotten.

There is snow in my deep-freezer, and not the kind that needs to be chiselled off the inside walls (come to think of it, the big box COULD use a good defrosting).

I guess in my constant whirlwind-blur these last few weeks I hadn’t noticed these things – or maybe I just forgot about their existence.

Or maybe the now missing bag of peas was previously hiding them.

Seven snowballs sit, frozen in time, the joy of their existence preserved in a box of sub-zero degree temperatures. And underneath the snowballs? The missing mini baking pan.

Six of them are circa November 2010.
One of them is circa January 2011.

We DID have one from November 2009, but a move during a record-breaking August heat-wave sent the poor thing melting faster than Frosty the Snowman on a sunny winter’s day.

I tried to save it – I truly did try. But moving a household of thirteen years worth of belongings took precedence.

The deep-freezer has held, and still holds, a great many things – and not necessarily all food. One year we saved part of the carrot Rudolph snacked on – you can’t just leave Santa a snack on Christmas Eve, now can you? Even though it was preserved in a Ziploc bag, eventually the gnarled, blackened nub of the half-eaten carrot had to go.

A tier of wedding cake sits beside a turkey waiting for the next great feast. Freezies from last summer wait for next summer, while a water balloon, filled and frozen (yes, it’s true), is nestled between loaves of bread. An ice-pack is at the ready for the next injury (and in this house, there are many).

But what are most important are the snowballs – God forbid the power goes out for an extended period and the freezer defrosts, thawing everything within.

The six from November 2010, were made by Brother 1 and his friend when Brother 2 was at a sleepover. Brother 1 and his friend didn’t want Brother 2 to ‘miss out.’

The seventh snowball recently preserved in January, was made on the night of The Great Snow that had us outside until 10pm – WAY past bedtime on a school night, no less. Keep in mind that in these parts snow is rare and causes great excitement, good and bad, sending the city into upheaval (see my entry dated December 5, 2010 - Don't Panic - It's Just Frozen Water). As the weather man/woman/person predicted, the snow melted away by the next day, but we had them beat. We saved a ball of this precious commodity, holding on to the memory of that wondrous night.

I struggle to foster and savour memories for my family. I fight myself from participating my children in a science experiment to stunt their growth, so eager am I to hold on to their youth – the NOW. I know these snowballs will eventually shrink and evaporate (think of the ice cubes sitting too long in the ice cube tray – they always shrink), unlike my children who will grow and grow, no matter what.

I have to remember to freeze the NOW. Forget about missing pans, missing peas, and dinners yet to be cooked. Freeze the memories I have now; don’t let them melt away.

As they freeze the memory of snow, sometimes bragging to their friends that they have REAL snowballs at home, I remember to freeze my own memories.

I went back in the house, hugged them all, my frozen cheeks and tears making them squirm - and made grilled cheese sandwiches.

Forget about the peas and pan - long live the snow.

Superstitious Lucky Rabbits

I just threw salt over my shoulder, and missed – damn.
Now it’s in my eye.
Just a sec.....................

How superstitious are you?

Derived from religious and cultural beliefs, superstitions have been passed down from generation to generation, often blurring from one culture to the next. Many ‘old wives’ tales’ have faded in time, their wording and meaning changing with each era. But some superstitions are so commonly known, so part of our daily lives, that we practice them without thinking (uncross those fingers!). Even those who STRONGLY object to superstition still pick up a penny when they see it. But do they do it in the spirit of acquiring great wealth, or are they repeating the age old saying ‘See a penny, pick it up, and for the day you’ll have good luck?’

Now, if I were smart about it, I would have saved every penny I found since childhood; I would have been a wealthy woman by now.

Not that I am compulsively phobic about superstitions, rearranging and arranging my life around them, but they are ever-present in my daily life. Heck, I even confuse one with the other, but I figure ‘better safe than sorry,’ and perform some sort of luck-fostering act.

And if I learn of one that has apparently ‘been around for ages,’ I panic – ‘How come I didn’t know about this? Oh how my life would have been luckier/wealthier/happier/safer if I had ONLY known to (insert appropriate newly-learned superstition here) all these years!’

Getting back to that salt in my eye, I dug around a bit (not in my eye, mind you), and found a clearly worded phrase to match the action:

Bad luck will follow the spilling of salt unless a pinch is thrown over the left shoulder into the face of the devil waiting there.

Ack! I never knew about the ‘devil’ bit, but the part about bad luck/salt over the shoulder? My mother instilled this on me since birth - more than the necessity for hairspray.

While discovering superstitions surrounding salt, I came across this one:

Put salt on the doorstep of a new house and no evil can enter.

That’s news to me! And to think I recently moved and never salted my doorstep! Would salting slugs do? Na – that’s not very nice.

How about this one:

Salty soup is a sign that the cook is in love.

Does that apply to mounds of salt on French Fries? And scrap the love bit...just pass the salt and vinegar, please!

And don’t go getting me around a ladder. In fact, I darn well nearly cross the street just to avoid the stupid things.

In my constant flurry in the kitchen, something is always being spilled, dropped, thrown or broken. I practically weep every time I drop a spoon – doing so brings disappointment.

My free-spirited friend thinks I am crazy, and mocks my twisted belief system. Sceptics like her say if you can’t see it or prove it, well then - forget it.

I don’t care. What’s wrong with a little luck? It never hurt anyone, did it?

Just to fuel my worries, I have been hounding my co-worker about Chinese superstition and luck. Her teachings have spiked my superstitious concerns, my imagination and phobic tendencies instantly taking on these cultural ways of thinking as my own.


As the Chinese New Year fast approaches, I grill her for every shred of lucky action I can perform. I am near ready to swallow tarantulas whole if it would make my life better.

Why this sudden neurotic need for more superstitious knowledge than my frail mentality can handle?

Numerous opinions on fostering a successful writing career have been penned by experts more prolific than I. Some strongly oppose the concept of having luck on your side when pursuing the literary dream. They say the road, path, journey – whatever you want to call it – to publication is not one of luck, but of hard work, perseverance, and determination. Other authors strongly oppose, saying that very often, especially in their own experiences, luck has played a huge part in their success. I agree with hard work and determination – and luck. What’s to hurt having a little on your side?

When I asked my co-worker what I should and shouldn’t be doing on Chinese New Year, hoping that any rituals I perform on the day commencing The Year of the Rabbit would prove successful for me in the forthcoming year, she patiently reminded me that with a country of 1.3 billion people in over 20 provinces, hosting numerous religious and cultural ways, she cannot possibly know all traditions.

“Oh.” My shoulders slumped. “Fine. Gimme what ya got.”

She pointedly looked at me and listed two ‘what not to do’s:’

No cussing. No reading. (She never elaborated as to why.)

Damn. I’m done for.

But then she brightened and said the day of the Chinese New Year is a ‘good time’ to buy clothes and underwear.

HOT DAMN! I guess I’m going shopping!

As I bid you Kung Hei Fat Choy, wishing you much happiness, wealth and luck in the coming Year of the Rabbit, I remind you to rely on your own strengths and determination to see you through.

And keep your fingers crossed – luck is right around the corner.

Wish me luck!

Now What?

It was just over a week ago when we ran around cheerfully shouting ‘See you next year!’ to everyone and anyone. It’s a joke we all share, knowing how absurd it sounds. ‘Next year’ is literally only a day or two or three away from the day we say it, depending on how much time off we have off from work, or when we will see the person next. We can only say it once a year and mean it, so we relish the time when we can.

Unless, of course, you were lucky enough to be able to sell all your belongings, pack a few undies and a bathing suit, and head over to the beaches of the Seychelles Islands for a year.

The noise makers, champagne flutes and badly recorded versions of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ are now tucked away with the Christmas decorations for another year. Our living rooms are devoid of any sparkling light or activity. The bowl of dust-covered ribbon candy is the only remnant of the season past. We sigh in relief grateful that the chaos is over, routines resuming with previously scheduled regularity, but yet.....

Now what?

Our lives are dictated by seasons and holidays. In the months following Christmas and New Year’s, although we stumble into work secretly glad for the return of routine, we scowl in our coffee cups and mumble ‘now what?’ Leftover Christmas candies and treats are our only joy.

Next on the calendar is Ground Hog Day, February 2nd. Not a holiday, and no food or candies are consumed, so scratch that. Valentine’s Day, February 14th, approaches and although not a work-free ‘holiday,’ at least we can gorge on chocolate. The Easter Bunny follows-up by breaking into our homes, leaving a (welcomed) mess of chocolate. Ground Hog Day and Valentine’s Day (for some) was a bust, so the Easter Bunny better pick up the slack. At least we can mainline chocolate again, drowning our sorrows in sugar and cocoa.


But what do we do in between? Sure we raced out on Boxing Day anxious not only for deals on electronics and Chia Pets, but also for deals on chocolates and candies. While waiting for more holidays in which to excessively gorge ourselves on candies, chocolates and lavish dinners (turkey again?), we are back to the original problem; now what? What do we have to look forward to?

In my angst to find SOMETHING to look forward to in the months leading up to another holiday/excuse to eat everything sugar or chocolate-laced in sight, I found the perfect ‘calendar’ a person could ever dream off.

A Candy Holiday Calendar. Be still my heart!

The wonderful folks over at the National Confectioners Association, www.candyusa.com , just saved my life and sanity.

‘Representing the Candy, Chocolate & Gum Industries since 1884,’ the National Confectioners Association is a trade organization representing and supporting manufacturers, distributors and retailers of CANDY (the proper word is confection).

Searching the website under ‘candy holidays,’ I rejoice out loud, thanking Mr. Hershey (chocolate bars, USA, 1894), Mr. Nestle (chocolate bars, USA, 1875,), Mr. Rogers (chocolatier, Victoria, BC, 1885), and Mr. Purdy’s (chocolatier, Vancouver, 1907) for making our world a better place. Here are just a few of the holidays I found:

• January 8th is National English Toffee Day.
• January 26th is National Peanut Brittle Day
• February 19th is Chocolate Mint Day.
• March 19th is National Chocolate Caramel Day

The list goes on. For a moment, my anger surged; WHY DIDN’T I KNOW ABOUT THESE HOLIDAYS?! But before I lost all mental faculties, verging on doing something stupid like swearing off candies forever in revolt, I sat back...

...and thought about it....
...and ate a leftover chocolate from New Year’s...
...and realized....

...there is always something to look forward to, at any time of year, no matter what the season. The most simple can brighten your day, candy or otherwise.

There is so much to look forward to – even in the little things – while waiting for the Easter Bunny.

Now go eat a chocolate - you’ll feel better.

Happy New Year!

Call Waiting; Thought Waiting.....

I love it that writers are on the same PAGE.

We interrupt, shush, and ignore each other. We ‘cut-off’ each other mid-conversation/email. Why? To preserve a writerly thought - an idea. Before the other person can utter another word making us loose that paramount idea forever, we MUST get it down, even if it means tossing all manners aside. It’s understood; we get it. It’s an unspoken rule, and no apology or forgiveness is ever needed.

And if your writer friend suddenly stares off into space as you recount your marvellous, newly discovered technique of how to trim your cat’s claws, don’t be offended – she isn’t bored with your story. She is just having writerly thoughts.

Most recently, my writer friend (a fellow blogger) and I were having a quick chat on email, and something she said inspired her. She had a writerly, or more specifically, a bloggable thought, and had to run to expand on it, thus promptly ending our email conversation. I didn’t respond to her last email - I didn’t want to make her feel obliged to read and respond thereby interrupting her thought.


No problem; no hard feelings. I get it – I’m with ya on that one, sister.

Alternately, I hate that call-waiting thing with a passion. Maybe it’s because I was left on the ‘line’ one too many times many years ago when call-waiting on private household phones was invented. Patiently waiting for the person to finish their call with the person on the OTHER line (I called FIRST), I would sit and wait. And wait. And wait. Out of frustration and hurt (never mind the need to pee) I would finally hang up. I don’t hold a grudge, but still waters run deep and all that...

Being put on hold when calling a business, however, is a different story. The concept is guaranteed, and you’re naive if you think it won’t happen to you. Although lengthy and time consuming, your frustration skyrockets if the music playing is not to your liking. And then to no one listening on the other end, except for the sporadic recorded ‘thank you for holding, your business is important to us – please stay on the line and someone will be with you shortly’ greeting, you curse the company, curse the phones, and swear to never allow yourself to be put on hold EVER again! (Not that I have ever done that!)

But holding while the receptionist confirms my earlobe-lift appointment is a different story. NO problem - THAT, I can handle.

And at least if you are on the phone with a writer friend (although rare because we are too busy ignoring each other), if a writerly thought does come up, we can write it down in silence, and still stay on the line.

What do you think hands-free phones are for?

There are no awkward silences while on the phone with a writer friend – we are WRITING! And no, this is not some lame excuse fabricated to chat on the phone during our writing/working hours. This is what writers do; chat, bounce ideas off each other, support each other, and nurture each other’s self-esteem. And then, when convenient, promptly ignore each other in the name of creativity, throwing everything our mothers and Miss. Manners taught us out the window.

My friend's 'bloggable thought' interruption was welcomed, embraced, and cherished. It is said that the business of writing is not for the faint of heart, so if you hope to make it in the writing world, toughen up and get used to being ignored/shushed/cut-off - and love it. We are like folk – the community of writers share a common bond, and receiving this kind of treatment means you are welcomed.

Now go away – I just had another bloggable thought.