Have been having problems loading WP. First time for everything. Here’s a link to an article by Adam Bellow, who spoke to his father Saul while still alive, found that funny, about “pamphlet type publishing” as publishing houses don’t want to take chances on unknowns as in bloggers.
have just been heavier than quick sand lately–that sand doesn’t count, and I’m getting into the spirit. So here it goes. Fast, unedited, fiction. Oh, just like all my other posts 🙂
Hammertoes, she definitely had hammertoes. She had no idea what hammertoes were and wasn’t about to look it up, but her big toe had begun to hurt the night before and was really hurting now.
She had been at a party last night. A man who smelled of onions walked up to her:
“You, you have a blog.”
It wasn’t in her preferred conversation list but it had gotten publicity and people found it amusing. Only in New York would a blog be considered amusing, This man however:
“You’re taking away work form real writers.” He said with much contempt.
There were two things wrong with his statement.
“I’m a real writer.”
“No, you’re a blogger. Real writers don’t blog.”
“And you know this because?”
“Bloggers aren’t writers. And no real writer who give away the cow…”
She wasn’t a rude person. Really. She was a nice person with an aching toe.
“And your name is? What do you write and where should I know your name from?”
She said this in one breath so that he couldn’t interrupt her. Speed talking was one of her best skills. She wanted to rush home and message her toe. This was her seventh party in five days and she couldn’t handle them anymore.
“Owen Brody,” he said as if she was supposed to recognize his name.
“Uh, see ya, Owen,” she said as her friend motioned her to join him, and say good night to the host.. Her friend, James, was rather known, and Owen’s face dropped.
In the morning the first thing she felt was her toe hurting. The second thing she felt was James. She forgot about her toe.
But she took four subway rides coming and going from the Upper West Side to Soho and back, and on each train she stood or sat across from a an advertisement for bunion and hammertoe removal. From the picture she deduced that hammertoe was a condition where dirty dinky dark sand would somehow become embedded in the top of feet and this operation would remove it.
Her toe wasn’t dark, and it felt soft not topped with dirty dinky sand. Still, it couldn’t be a coincidence that her foot hurt and she stood across from an advert for hammertoe removal on four subway rides in less than four hours.
I’m really into fiction, and will take requests on topics. I will be putting New York street holiday photos in my new photoblog if I actually get out and take them tomorrow.
Happy Winter! Every day gets longer now.