But I could if I wanted to. It would be the tale of a plucky old heroine who battles ice and other folks indifference to her plight yet she perseveres. Yep, our white-haired freckle-faced gal goes out into the world with her wee basket of eggs (hats or poems...not sure yet) and finds that the city-folk (craft council, publishers) don't care for her home-grown (spun or focussed) work. So she trudges back home and crawls into bed (bottle or funk).
Whadya all think?
Today is supposed to be ANOTHER BIG STORM ACOMING day so trying to rebook my appointments and maybe I'll muck out the coop as dear one says it is starting to be a fire-hazard - apparently that deep-litter technique is working and the good stuff is all composting. So I might do that or at least heave it around a bit and wipe my brow alot and sigh and bond with the birds. And I'm on the home-stretch with Val's hat AND maybe I'll write a bit. Feel like getting back into the first one - Feckless - and seeing if I can't do another hard edit and get it out selling its ass to publishers. Yep, both the birds and the literary efforts are talked to like I'm their very own chain-wearing pimp. "What am I feeding you for? Make eggs (deals) Mama wants a new pair of shoes!" or something like that. Actually the hens are way ahead of the literary efforts. I'll show them - I'll show them all! or me. or nobody...
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