Imprinted

We heard a story…

Everyone had grown up and left the home, nurturing their lives, careers, and dreams. Somehow, though, they began having Sunday dinner together every week. Mom was so overjoyed that she made their favorite every week, which was southern fried chicken.

I immediately recalled watching Mom go through her fried-chicken process in our little ranch style home in the mid 1960s. Starting with a whole chicken, she would wash it and rub it down with cold water and then burn the remains of the feathers off over the gas burner. Truthfully, I never saw any feathers. I don’t know if Mom saw any, either, but this was her process.

Next, she washed the chicken again, and then dried it, and cut it into pieces. The pieces were dipped in egg, and then rolled in white flour with salt and pepper. She fried it in grease from her drippings collection in a big electric skillet. (Crisco later replaced the drippings.) The chicken was vigilantly watched and turned. When judged ready, they were removed and put on paper towels so excess grease could drip off.

I know her process well, and know how her fried chicken tasted as well. Nothing like grabbing a cold piece of fried chicken out of the refrigerator for a late-evening snack. Like many things she made for us to eat in those years, it ruined things for me later. I’ve always been looking for something that tastes as good as Mom’s. When you’ve had the best, it’s imprinted.

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Should You Tell Your Friend They’re Bad at Writing?

Always difficult to address this question. I would have once said, “Tell the truth.” Morals, ethics, integrity, and that shit. But I’ve since thought, this is a Schrodinger situation, innit? It’s a thought experiment that their writing is bad today but it could be better next week, next month, next year. Or bad writing may become the new vogue. I’d rather keep the friendship. I don’t know how the the writing will be when tomorrow is opened.

Novelty Revisions

So you have this friend. You value them enough to respect them and avoid hurting their feelings as much as possible.

You and this friend continuously bond over the fact that you’re both writers. It’s not the primary reason you get along, but it’s nice to have someone to “talk about writing” with, and a solid reminder that you aren’t the only one struggling to put ideas into words and make those words accessible to the masses.

You’ve gotten to the point in your “writing relationship” where you both are willing to swap prose knowing you’re good enough friends that each will receive honest feedback without resentment — a great place to be, as far as writing relationships go.

There’s just one problem.

When your friend emails you a piece of their manuscript-in-progress, you sit down, open it up, get a few sentences in and realize …

It’s bad.

Like…

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Monday’s Theme Music

I’d not thought of this song – or heard it – in a while, but Kalliope mentioned it on another post, and naturally the song was sucked into the stream.

Here’s Vanessa Carlton with “A Thousand Miles” (2002), a good song to begin a week, and an excellent song to stream as you walk-about and wonder.

Weirdly, it always bothers me that she doesn’t cover the piano up when she’d done with the song and has gone back home in the video. I think it’s a statement, things are not finished, but my inner tidy guy thinks, it was covered when you started, you should cover it when you’re done.

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