Thursday, November 01, 2007

A new title

I changed my mind about the title.

My Lava Life: A year of drinking scotch with strangers.



Blogger MVL said...

Well, I thought I had written a pretty witty comment and followed it up with an invitation for your person to meet my person to see whether they played well enough together for us to hang out.

But apparently not - three days is a long delay to post comments. It probably got lost in the miasma of the Internet.

Anyway...soon. You and me and maybe two more.

Have fun at Hopscotch tonight.

November 09, 2007  
Blogger MVL said...

PS - I suggested a new subtitle for your novel, "How I Kept Pulling the Trigger Until the Damned Gun Went Off"

November 09, 2007  
Blogger Unknown said...

mmm, well, haven't learned enough about the title yet. still working on the excerpt and charrie development.

i'm both mystified and intrigued, which means I want to know more about the characters and how they grow (or don't), and so from this I have to say I am willing to go father in reading this proto-novel.

Maybe it's even an Ur-Novel. Let's see.

Donna, I have to just haul off and deeply admire you for even thinking of tackling such a huge commitment. Hell, if I were within hugging distance, I've haul off and hug you just on general principles. A NOVEL!!

Well, your premise is entertaining. Your prose definitely grabs at the funny bone. And you don't close the door to possibilities of a sad ending. Or at least, a non-Hollywood ending...

This "will/ought to have been" interesting.

How goes it, my dear friend? Missing you.

Russell in northern BC

December 12, 2007  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

If I'd only known you were going to write a novel I'd a ditched the nice boy shit and headed straight into infamy, damn those lost moments!

December 16, 2007  
Blogger Unknown said...

A month ago, sweetie, I was back and forth to TO, and wishing I was not on that flight...

Sonnet For Endless Flight

At thirty seven thousand feet we cruise,
a "Vigne Elisa" settling jangled nerves.
A menu! Look! But nothing much to choose.
I ask. An aisle goddess gently serves.

A steady stream towards the rear await
their turn to genuflect, then to their seat
return, a little fresher. "Are we late?",
I hear at thirty seven thousand feet,

and wonder, if we are, what might be done?
I ache. I shift my legs and back and butt.
The afternoon gives way to evening sun.
The menu item grumbles in my gut.

Another glass of red would be so sweet.
I rest, at thirty seven thousand feet.

February 04, 2008  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

We had a baby.

April 09, 2008  

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