At a Port Angeles coffee shop yesterday, a half dozen women in their fifties talked about doing headstands and gossiped about an acquaintance who was shacking up with a younger man. She's a predator, one said, to universal nods. Men should be warned about her man-acquiring, marrying ways. And then someone noted that the predator (Predatress?) had been divorced and single for twenty years.
The conversation moved on to canola oil. Don't use it, it's poison, one woman said. It's made from rapeseed.
Rapeseed--that's where crop circles are formed, another said.
Now it all made sense. The circles were a warning, they agreed. About canola oil.
There's a shadow constantly hovering at my shoulder. For all my gallivanting into the social whirl, nevermind the positive social media...
Ever wondered what it takes to get a piece of fiction published? I'm not talking New Yorker type of prose. That's a rarefied world ...
Check out my new video, a brief reading from a story published this past spring in Opossum.
Welp, after a half-year experiment in social media, BSP has returned to its blogger roots. I hated Faceborkland, tbh. Sure, it was easier t...