And the Winner Is...

       It took hours and hours to count, create, and tabulate the entries...hours, because there were hundreds of people interested in winning a book of poetry.
      Okay, it really only took a minute but the low number of entries isn't due to a lack of interest in Shay, Joy and Kelli's poetry. It's just that I have a small number of followers(but they are mighty).

      Here are the entries:

  

          Notice the fancy font I used to create the slips. My techno-skills are so amazing, I can make things appear like they were handwritten. I'm oh-so-clever that way.

         Who are you tryin' to fool? You wrote those names on slips of paper with some old, fat-tipped marker that you found in a drawer. And don't even waste your breath about using rafflecopter or some computer program to determine the winner. You folded each one in half, closed your eyes, stirred the slips up and then snagged one...

        And the winner is...

        Marcia, if you email your address, I will send the book your way. (And it's ironic that Marcia won this book. She and Shay have competed in at least one writing contest, and Shay swears that some day, she's "gonna get" Marcia.)

       (You'd better watch your back, Marcia.)

Change

       Change is hard for some of us. We try to resist new experiences and new approaches--sometimes--but when we embrace it, it often brings some (initial) discomfort but (eventually) it leads to an improvement. The new experience was enjoyable. The different strategy made things easier.

     Last Thursday I attended a funeral...for my black Crocs. My dog had chewed off one of the straps (years ago) so I cut the strap off the other one so they would match. Another time, I did a decoupage project and dribbled Mod Podge all over those trusty shoes, and still they remained reliable. But when Bronx Diba offered to pop for a pair of shoes for all the Listen to Your Mom performers, I knew it was time to kill those Crocs. (I cut them up--in public at the shoe store so I wouldn't lose my resolve--in front of my daughter and my friend. Those two shoe-loving and Croc-hating women cheered, along with the Bronx Diba employees, who screamed in horror when they caught sight of my trusty Crocs.)

         By the way, have you gotten your Listen to Your Mother tickets? If you don't live in the St. Louis area, have no fear--there are shows all over the country. No matter the city, the show is going to be moving. You'll laugh...you'll cry...and in the end you'll be glad you went.

        Here are the shoes I chose, after spending two hours vacillating.

        They may not appear to be high or scary-looking, but compare them to my tan Crocs (which are shaking in their rubber-ness, since they know good and well what I did to their cousins).

        Wedges are a big step (or misstep) for me. There is a pool going on--how soon will Sioux fall on her face? As soon as she steps onto the stage? As she walks to the center of the stage? Will she save the best for last, and fall when all the performers are taking a bow, taking the whole line of writers down with her?

        You'll have to come to the show to find out. And if you aren't in the area, there's always Youtube later...

        What kind of changes have you embraced lately? Tell. We want to hear all about it...

A Funeral...Will It Be Suicide or Homicide?

       

         Tomorrow I am going to a funeral. The death has not happened yet, and it remains to be seen whether it will be ruled as death by their own hands or by my hands.

       Will they leap onto the blades of the scissors on their own, in an effort to end their misery? Or will they rail against their imminent demise, the instinct to live overruling what they know is the truth...that they are pathetic and not even fit for yard work anymore.  

       The friends I will be memorializing are loyal. They're always there, waiting to be of service. They've survived being chewed on by my dog, they no longer feel springy, and they're currently sporting dribbles of Mod Podge...and yet they still are proud when I reach out for them.

        The service will be held at Bronx Diba, a shoe store in the St. Louis area. Any sympathy cards and casseroles will be gratefully accepted as I try to cope during this period of mourning.

        (Sob.)

        (Sniff.)

A Hat Trick, Baby

        Okay, my sports knowledge is severely limited, but I do know what a hat trick is. And these three poets are a fiercesome threesome...

      It's rare I order three copies of the same book. But when this trio of writers offered up yet another collection of their poetry, I couldn't help myself.

       One for me. One for a friend. And one to give away...



You can buy this book at Amazon if you don't win it.

       Their work is mercurial. It defies description--at least I am inept at describing it, except to say that their writing is fine. Really fine. 

        Since my tongue is tied (along with my keyboard apparently), I'm giving you a link to check out these writers (in case you're not familiar with them). And at the end of the month (April), I'll draw a name of the lucky winner--the winner of their own personal copy of Three-Note Howl: The Wild Hunt.

         Check out Kelli Simpson at her blog.  Read Shay Simmons' daily poetry offering on her blog. Get to know Joy Ann Jones by diving into her blog. And keep your fingers crossed...

          Leave comments to enter this fantastic giveaway. Leave a gross of them. Leave them often. (It won't increase your chances but it will amuse me.)

                                
                                (a little Emmylou Harris--in her younger years--for Shay)

Still Into It

(Beware. This topic/title was chosen so I would have a reason to include my favorite Paramore song. Sorry.)

     Okay, these are the things I am still "into":

• Sons of Anarchy (a show on FX that I love and is in its final season...it will take its final breaths this summer or fall, I believe. Think "The Sopranos" on motorcycles.)
• teaching (I still enjoy my job.)
• Crocs (however, one of my pairs--"Blackie"--is going to be autopsied soon, on April 24. Bring your own flower petals.)
• honesty (I got some initial feedback on my NaNo/manu, and even though no one has gotten to the end yet, they are suggesting segues. Are those really necessary?  They also say I probably need to change my point of view, which will result in more snark. No one has ever asked for more snark from me. I love it.)
• a great writing critique group  (Just about every piece of writing I submit has been critiqued by four gifted writers. They each bring a different perspective, they each have their unique strengths, but they're all strong and fierce.)

     What are you "into" these days?  (And now what I've been waiting for. I'm sorry if it's not what you have been waiting for...)

A Positive Spin On Poop

         When can a pile of poop be something valuable? When can a bunch of waste material be considered worthwhile? When can something that would normally be flushed away become something that is elevated into the realm of precious?

     Check out my guest post on The Muffin to find out...