Dear Scotland Co-Retreaters,
It’s so nice to hear how people are doing since our writing retreat in Forres, Scotland. I wasn’t going to update anyone, thinking, ‘Everybody knows enough about my messes already.’ I’m not good at familiarity with people.
Again, let’s scratch that.
So damned sexy!
Being back in Canada has been like hitting a stone wall–without the buffer of two drams of whisky and a beer chaser. I’ve fallen and flailed, boob over shoelace, toe over head, yelling ‘WTF’. Unfortunately, as I repeated myself, my request appears in a thought bubble about four inches above my head; there is no attached sound byte. I keep cranking my neck back to look above me, to know when that changes. Now I have whiplash, sunstroke, and an acute sense of lauded invisibility.
Oh yeah! Visibility too. I can’t get rid of those damned yellow floaties hanging over me. Yesterday on the bus, a petulant child stared at me, seemingly reading aloud my every single synapse-fire and then proceeded to edit my grammar and wordiness. One sunburned construction worker, two middle-aged nuns, and a little old woman–a dead-ringer for Ellen’s mother–were highly amused. They snickered and applauded the lad. I panicked and grabbed for anything neutral to think about.
A writing prompt. That’s it. I considered one and mapped out the piece. Fifty seconds later, I slaughtered it and myself. Stupid. To this–forever a good student of our writing retreats–I substituted all derogatory words with other ones.
“I’m so sexy!”
DAMN! HOW DO I STOP THIS? I’m looking like a pervert here! HELP!
Any-who, that’s me.
I miss you all. Plus, I loved spending those glorious days with you. Please be safe, healthy, happy and present.
Write on, my friends.