It is the day after the elections and I am feeling relief that all the ads and BS are over, until the politicians are sworn in anyway. What must it be like to put yourself out there, take the slings and swords, and go on with your life...oh wait...as writers we do that every day.
For those of us who write essays the souls we bare are our own and sometimes the people who love us must suffer our made-public opinions as well. My family is hardened and proud when it comes to my big mouth, as translated through my keyboard.
I have a writing expert I refer to once in awhile, her name is Ms Trite. Her first name is Cliche, she must be French, and though her utterances have been heard many times, and in many ways, I respect that she is able to boil out the bullshit and refine it to a sauce most interesting. Spicy or sweet, her tastes are varied but her ingredients simple...use as few(words)as possible and leave a pleasant aftertaste.
About the elections of yesterday:
All politians should be sent to Washington with one thing, a roll of duct tape and not because it fixes everything. Directions: place ear to ear over mouth.
I am expanding a short story for my writing group. It's about a father's secret holding a family hostage to their land, 1000 protected acres.
Secrets of women protect emotions, secrets of men protect honor.
Ms Trite didn't come up with that one I did.