Setting Myself Up For A Fall…
Up there is what’s going on down here.
The first step is merely the first step towards failure. Hannah the optimist, speaks.
I have no idea why I am attempting this. As sure as ripened limes are green and glass blowing is a skill best left to Venetian lips, this will rapidly and surely be left by the wayside, along with every other vaguely creative outlet I have ever started, all of which I have never properly finished.
I blame Mills and Boon.
Damn Mills and Boon. Damn them to the fiery (engorged) pit of Beelzebub’s lair. I blame them for filling me with the dancing, literary demon. Water will extinguish it, I’m sure.
Or frustration (due to set in in aboooout 22hours) when I can no longer mould my thoughts+feelings+mind swirls into some kind of cohesive… thingshapeblob.
On a slightly different note-
“Vendetta Bride” by Rebecca King (credit where credit’s due) is class. Pure, sheer, unadulterated class. From beginning to end.
Here is a sweet little morsel from this DelightfulJamTart of a book.
“Her eyes fell to the sheet and she saw the faint circle of damp where, with only his tongue, his teeth, he had caressed her to the very edge of oblivion. The mark of shame…”
”Mark of shame.” Hell yes. Absolutely and unequivocally, yes. I am dangerously in lust with that phrase, and from this moment on, will try and insert into everyday life, as much as is humanly, and humanely possible. For example; supermarket aisle. dairy section. milk carton broken, contents spilt on floor (nothing to cry over, mind) me. you. anyone says; “THE MARK OF SHAME! THE MILKY MARK OF SHAME.”
Right. Enough thinking. Writing. Speaking. Jottling.
x
p.s a mouse just emerged from under Ody’s box, glanced at me for a few seconds, then scuttled under the door. Cheeky rodent minxpot.
