This IS NOT about Adrianna Joleigh

     I was chatting with Adrianna (my sometimes writing partner and full time pain-in-the-ass) that I needed to get something written today to go out with my invoicing.  The problem being is that almost all of my non-work time has been spent writing, talking about writing, hosting writing challenges, working with writing prompts, giving advice on writing; I think you get the picture, I have been writing.  But that avocation has left no time to garner any whimsical observations on my life here in the Smokys to include as my bi-monthly torture letter with my invoicing.

     My PITA (she was just promoted to Royal PITA, here is her coronation picture complete with tiara) suggested (here’s a big surprise) that I could write about (you guessed it) her.  I didn’t dare let on that I had thought about that, but I was worried that if I had, her head might get so big that Denmark would have to gotheir territory.

to war and expand

     I had some other thoughts:  I did consider talking about the very beginning of fall with the colors starting to emerge and the deciduous litter beginning to cover my driveway, but that’s like talking about the weekend on Wednesday.  It is something to look forward to and plan for, but the weekend isn’t really the weekend until Saturday (or Friday about lunchtime if you’re a court reporting, yoga fanatic, with more male admirers than South Beach has sand).  So I’ll wait until next time to discuss, as my Tennessee neighbor Dolly would describe, the coat of many colors.

     I also considered talking about that mythical creature Ebon, ruler of winter, who is slowly devouring our precious daylight hours in preparation to attack our lives and heating bills with his icy wind and snowy blankets.  But again, it is not yet Halloween (even with the Christmas decorations out in the stores), so Ebon hasn’t made a sizable incursion worthy of comment.

     A thought had occurred that a playful examination of my writing-social network that spans from Adrianna in Denmark, to Emily in England, Eve in Sweden, Francine in Australia, both Rea and Nariman in South Africa, and don’t forget Dyane in Canada, but then someone might notice and ask how come they are all, you know, foreign.  I can’t help where these women choose to live.  What?  Oh, yeah, I guess they are all women.  So what?

     My blog could have been an interesting subject; there are quite a few more posts than before including a symbolic look at my fight with depression http://writerinthemountains.blogspot.com/2013/10/depression.html and a couple of new stories.  But that’s what I did last time.

     This is just terrible.  I haven’t run into any funny locals, my dogs haven’t pulled any shenanigans, there no immediate holiday to make fun of, and no one has shot the Waynesville town turkey this week.  This is so not fair!

     I am not going to give Adrianna the satisfaction of mentioning her here.  I utterly refuse to talk about she, even after all of careful guidance and tutelage with her writing, has now taken up sketching, too.  I will not talk about her intelligence, wit, and talents or how if you Google her she is mentioned in more places than there are porn sites (not that I know anything about porn sites).  There is no way that you are going to find out from me how much in demand she is both as an interview subject and an interviewer.  There is nothing going to be said here about just because she and I co-host a writer’s challenge and critique each other’s work, that she finds it obligatory to ruin my reputation by including my name in every post and every comment she makes online.  (I think she is trying to live off my fame.)  And I am NOT going to talk about her poetry, fiction, and insights on her website; she can just promote http://adriannajoleigh.com/ herself.

     So, you all have my sincere apology.  I couldn’t come up with a subject for this letter, maybe next time.