Meeting in town with my Shreditor
Austin Murphy isn’t my editor, and he would die if he knew I were calling him that.
But for you my cherished reader/riders, a little stretching o’ the truth on this AusPicious (St. Packrat’s) day is in order.
And. as my banjo teacher once said (slightly disparagingly) : “Jacquie, your glue dries fast”.
OK, reader, it’s still only seven p.m. Marin County time.
This was gonna be my big day, since I am a genuine Phony Irish American.
As I pedaled along in the fine spring chill, I noticed that many Marinites had opted for their green car (the color, not the philosophy) to celebrate the Irish holiday.
And to be sure, I also pulled out my green Sprite, but it had two flat tyres (“Victoria” insists her inflated rubber things be spelt that way).
So the Breezer, blue and white, bore me to a coffee shop in San Anselmo where a Real Writer (Snorts Illustrated, or “Essigh” for short) would regale me with Tricks of the Trade.
Which he cheerfully did. He also said I had a voice, and that the clunker domain was “my turf, indisputably” and all sorts of other encouraging things. Maybe I’m just twenty pages away from getting an ‘agent’.
Even telling him I’m allergic to things like responsibility and planning didn’t seem to faze him.
So watch this space.
If it remains empty, I’m probably typing my proposal….
Meantime, here’s a picture of the strange Dutchman’s Pipe, a native plant hereabouts, that should be called Dutchman’s Klootsak… it’s sorta green and faintly obscene.