it's not easy being greenish

I paid $20 for this picture.

It's my aura. Really. No, really.

You put your hand on this metal plate

and they run electrical current through you and

then they take a Polaroid of the results.

It's either New Age or old age.

I was born in 1947.

Do the math.

(math ragged)

I didn't go to kindergarten.

I never went to summer camp.

I own two pens with solid gold filigree points,

but I write on both sides of every sheet of paper

so I won't burn for all eternity




I am, finally, a writer. How do I know? I write every single day, that's how.

I didn't feel like a writer when I wrote this book or this book.

I felt like I was having a good day, or a lucky break -- or maybe it was a fluke.

Then one day in 1990, when I was trying to write another novel,

I fantasized that a real writer:

1. had perfect files, organized by topic.

2. had perfect backups, organized by submission dates.

3. did nothing else but write.

(mousey writer)

Little by little, I'm trying to live my own version of the fantasy.

My files are coming along. I'm up to G.


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(big wheel ...) all verbiage © Nancy Hayfield Birnes (...keeps on rollin')