Floofturn (floofinition) – a housepet quick turn in which the animal doubles back in one or two steps.

In use: “Pogo was heading for the pet door, but when Sandra opened the refrigerator, Pogo executed a floofturn and jogged to the kitchen.”


Tuesday’s Theme Music

“Forever in Blue Jeans” started splashing through my memory stream this morning. I’m not certain what called it in. My dreams didn’t feature blue jeans or Neil Diamond, so I don’t blame my dreams.

Thinking about the lyrics, I infer from them that blue jeans are okay. From that, and maybe I’m stretching, but blue jeans are the po’ people’s clothing.

If so, that’s from a completely different era, in my mind. Even by the time Neil and his guitarist wrote this song in the late seventies, blue jeans had moved up in income brackets. Way back around two thousand, I recall reading an article about wealthy folks having tailored blue jeans made for them. Although poor and lower classes still wear them, blue jeans are more about being hip and casual now.

Anyone, here’s Neil with his song.

P.S. – what is “baby’s treat”?

Mr Gander

Mr Gander rolled into the noisy sports bar, grunting and waving at others while signalling for a PBR. As Gander’s ample weight found a stool, Tilly observed that Gander seemed down.

“The wife.” Gander pointed his eyes at the TV and sampled his beer’s head.

“What ’bout ‘er?”

“Nothin’. I have little complaints ’bout ‘er. They’re so small, you could say they’re shards of complaints.”

“You ever tell ‘er ’bout ’em? Maybe that’d help.”

“Naw, man. If I tell ‘er my complaints ’bout ‘er, she’ll tell me her complaints ’bout me.” Gander sipped his beer. “Who wants to hear that crap?”


Floofhold (floofinition) –

1. A tenuous grasp on a housepet.

2. A housepet’s tenous grip on an object.

3. Delaying an event or an activity due to a housepet’s situation or location.

In use: “He wanted to vacuum the house, but, not wanting to disturb the sleeping cats and dogs, was forced into a floofhold.”

Agent Submissions

wish agents submitted to my will, but they’re impressively resilient.

That’s not what I’m writing ’bout, as you know. I’m addressin’ the other sort of submissions, the one that requires you to send agents your writing, seeking a pinkiehold on the path to traditional publishing, which, as we all know, also brings us fame, fortune, and immunity from ever doubting ourselves again.


As I’ve refined my submission process in this go-around, I’ve come to think of it as job-hunting. Instead of a novel or proposal, you’re submitting a resume when you’re job hunting.

They have other similarities.

You peruse every source you find for potential places to submit.

You submit as much as you can.

You wait and hope for positive responses.

You keep going until you’ve signed somewhere.

What ’bout you? How’d you approach it?

7 Things Writers Can Do No One Else Can (or Wants to)

I would add, drink prodigiously, mostly coffee, to this list…


I’m reposting this from a few years ago. Back then, I didn’t have many readers so now, I wanted to share these pithy thoughts–including a few updates–with all my new efriends!

There are a lot of difficult parts to writing. I mean, besides the whole write-edit-revise-rewrite-market-start over thing. That cutting a vein and bleeding on the page can get touch-and-go at times. Channeling your muse often gets someone you’d prefer to avoid. And it’s well documented that trying to make a living as an author is pretty near impossible unless your last name rhymes with ‘Fancy’ or ‘Brawling’.

Despite all that, it’s a profession people flock to, spend thousands training to be, and wouldn’t give up for anything. Widely-accepted studies show 80% of us have a book we want to share–despite that industry stats show it takes five years to hone and deliver an acceptable novel.

It may–or may not–surprise…

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Monday’s Theme Music

You often hear what’ll happen someday. Biggest of that is, “Someday, we’ll understand.” But, for a lot of us, for many of these prophecies, someday never comes.

It was part of my morning circle. When will this come about? What day? Someday. Well, sometimes someday never comes.

John Fogerty was writing about his parents’ divorce and his own marriage breaking up when he wrote “Someday Never Comes”. I enjoy CCR’s music because of the beats and a general buoyancy they project, but Fogerty’s lyrics were often observational essays.

Here’s “Someday Never Comes” (1972).

First thing I remember was askin’ papa, “Why?”, for there were many things I didn’t know
And daddy always smiled; took me by the hand, sayin’, “Someday you’ll understand”
Well, I’m here to tell you now each and ev’ry mother’s son
You better learn it fast; you better learn it young, ’cause someday never comes

h/t lyricsfreak.com

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