The Little Words Mean the Most

So, what are you reading

Watch the comma: So, what are... VS. So what are...

Burnday

L-r: the twig oven about to, to, and "on fire." With each stick added, "Fiery volcano, take my sacrifice!" Now I've done what I can do about fate. Winter mushrooms; oh, ah, wow, the things you find when you cut trails. On a snowy day anyone can walk on the moon. Cutting limbs is like parsing line breaks. Deer urine in the snow is the color of weak green tea, "Dear Urine-in-the-snow." Fire is highly inspirational.

 

Greggie dances the red sauce in time for carnival

Laramoops, pleasure of pleasures, star in our spirally firmament: all hail (snow, sleet, rain, mist, fog)! Who asked, "What would you like for dinner at our house? Greg wants to cook." Answered: Love pasta. And meatballs. Comfort food, comfort me! Come for me tonight! Bring a ladder and those heels I love!

If...we...were...all...still cave men and women, Greggie would be that one, the guy (gal, wh'ev), WHO[m] (or "that," in the ungrammatically-inclined vernacula [rhymes with dracula]) the entire tribe (99%, but for the guy I know with tongue cancer) hoped would be [past indefinite participle to the moon] cooking in rotation that night. (Assuming cave people lived in a socialist utopia where chores were equally shared. I think I learned that somewhere.)

Ah. Sweet. Looking up wines on Greg's iPhone. About to sit down at a Herman Miller Aero S. table in their "worth being considered a destination" house: see great furniture; appreciate (there COULD be a quiz; Greg teaches university-level architecture) terrific design surprises; a gourmet galley; the house motto has something to do with cocktails.

Good direct mail: It's not manipulation...

It's letting the angels inside you speak. And anyone who doesn't believe that is a warty old cynic.

I went to Michigan and...

...all I got was the pair of tipless gloves I've always wanted and a nightmare story of air travel that weirdly ended happily.

 

Afternoon of the twig oven

I had some mistakes to correct from my last flame-out. This time I had plenty of fuel. This time my twig oven was tight. This time I had my crank bellows handy to keep the flames hot. And this time I had one wooden match. Pine cones go up like RPGs. Burned brush for hours in the snow, in my lined snow boots bought on sale in Muncie, IN. Great boots. Heavy as cement blocks.

If Tim Burton...

...made a movie exclusively about chocolate, he might have served (adequately) as the film-documentarian-in-residence at the Valentine's Day food-fest at Jonathan and Marci's house in Harvard, MA. I did not bring my camera this time. But Merlin was there. And after the guests had left, we listened to original lullabies by Jonathan Cornell-Feist, performed by Aaron Larget-Caplan.

February is customarily a slow month

So I'm writing a new how-to book on "retention communications." And launching my new website, myfreenovel.com. Here's the masthead:

"Mt. Tom About To Explode"

How to write a $20 million case for Chicago client

You get down on your carpet, spread everything out, and let your mind wander among all the possibilities: What do I say first? How do I use the priest? Where are the emotional triggers? What questions will the prospect have, so I can anticipate them and roll out a steady supply of reasonable, flattering (that's a good thing) answers? UPDATE: Today was a day of observance. Me on me. I watched me "write" (that includes pen-to-paper, research, dreamsicles, naps, and my yellow-highlighting absorption of relevant how-to books) for 9 hours. No wonder I'm exhausted!