I've got two things in the can right now:
A script a former theatre director is editing;
And old isssue of The Main Street WhizBang being recopied by "Quarkettez" Josie so I can show some folks some of my projects of the past (mostly lead-balloon projects).
I don't have Photobucket, and am in fact about ready to kick the bucket, only my doctor and dentist in there pitching in.
Josie is down with a code in her node, I am down with bronchitis (which in no way diminishes my need for a cigarette).
This seems to be a period of waiting.
We are, I think, all of us, waiting.
Waiting to get "betta".
Monty Python: "The evil witch changed me into a newt.
" (I got betta!)."
Waiting, waiting, waiting.
We are all waiting.
To get " betta."
We need to be betta writers (though I think Josie is so good she hardly needs improvement).
Betta in our health, for something out there is out to get us this winter. And it ain't foolin'.
Like Josie, I can't wait for spring, that season of great promise, when the grass is green and all those winter viruses will finally be knocked.
We certainly wait for British Columbia to be a paradise once again, instead of a poor imitation of Colorado and Nevada those mythical vacation spots tuned so suddenly into inland lakes.
All good things come to those who wait, my wise ex-wife used to say.
But I don't think she's waiting for Ivan any more.
Literary "prize" turned booby-prize.
Oh if I'd only been a truckdriver!
...But then I have.
That wasn't so hot either. Southern rednecks throwing themselve under my eight-wheeler just "fer to get the insurance."
I guess they sit and whittle on the side of the road an wait.
Come on eighteeen-wheeler!
Run across eight lanes of traffic for one!
Some Canadian idiot made a movie of it.
I'm another Canadian idiot wating for his book to be turned into a movie.
Ah, the gloomy Slav still waits.
I still think of of my old prof.
"Two things are certain. You will get your book published, and you will get laid."
Come on eighteen wheeler!