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Be all that as it may, meanwhile:
'In other news…'
08th November 2010
Monday: I took Bob swimming and walking, having not seen him for a week and a half. Great to see Phoebe the old corgi and her master Peter on our walk along the river. Phoebe is intensely loyal to Peter, now in his 80's, and she went out her door and got a friend walking past to come in and help Peter this very morning, who was quite unwell at the time.
This evening late I began writing my next short story, titled 'Sugar', up to 2500 words, which I hope to submit to a competition closing in December.
+paytontedwithlove+
12 comments:
Dated 29th November? Are you THAT far ahead of us?
Must be all that writing you're doing.
Great to hear it. How long does your short story have to be?
Ah, I see the story has to be up to 2500 words. I thought you meant you had written 2500 words. That would some speed writing!
Great that you are getting on with a new story.
Gladys: Oops! I've just corrected the date: time goes fast here, but not that fast.
Yes, 2500 words maximum. I didn't make that very clear. A thousand buckeroos for the winner, as long as he is Australian and very good looking!
Oh Payton, then you are bound to win. Who can compare with looks like yours - your long silky hair, that handsome Aussie face, those lithe smooth limbs rich with bulging muscle!
Not sure what a buckeroo is worth but you seem happy at the prospect. (Buckeroo? Is it a sexy male kangaroo?)
Gladys: Flattery is most advisable, and you are employing it to my ample satisfaction.
A thousand buckeroos would be ballpark two hundred Lady Godivas.
My, that's some flesh!
Gladys: Oops! Make that ballpark ONE hundred Lady Godivas, going by one squid for two buckeroos.
So, not so much flesh.
But flesh in the right places?
Gladys: Now what am I to make of that question?
Here I am, waxing lyrical about my attempt to write a short story with the innocently sweet title 'Sugar', to enter into the 17th Annual Hal Porter Short Story Competition 2010, to try to scoop a thousand buckeroos, and you, Gladys of all people (hang on, she who writes sizzling fiction where ravished flesh is the norm!), have lowered the whole tone.
I suggest a cold shower.
Oh really, Inkletter, Sugar? Sweet, delicious maybe, yak maybe, You my sugar, honey?
Jam making? Cake baking?
Syrup spooning, sugar crooning?
Or just writing eating jelly beans?
Flesh is normal, flesh is carnal
Flesh is weak, flesh is meat.
Mm, another jelly bean please.
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