Today is new and fresh and Spring is on its way. In lieu of doing the traditional Spring Cleaning, I'm donating Negative Nancy and Debbie Downer and replacing them with Personal Mantra Pammy.

I've been racking my brains with new ways to promote Tuesday Tells it Slant and running into the same wall (over and over again). What worked with Clemenza doesn't fit with Tuesday. She's in a genre all her own. She's not just Chick-Lit. She's twenty-something Chick Lit. She's SNL Chick Lit.

The first step to a successful marketing campaign is to remove all negative energy from my soul. I'm doing this with Personal Mantra Pammy. Every negative should become a part of a larger positive. Kinda like small negatives are wiped out by small positives, but the whole is a big positive as seen below:

*Note: If this is crazy, then at the very least it's crazy positive!

When I had my gallbladder removed I awoke from surgery, grabbed the surgeon's arm and said, "I just had the BEST dream! I was on Oprah!"

As it turns out, my best dreams are evoked by anesthesia.

During this endoscopy, I was put under while a tube was shoved down my throat to look into my stomach. I hope you aren't eating. Perhaps I should have warned you. Anyway, I woke up from the procedure and grabbed the nurse's arm and said , "I just had the best dream ever!" and she said (to the other nurse, with the most beautiful earrings I have ever seen), "We got a Talker!"

From there I was convinced that I was meant to interview every single patient in that little recovery room.
"Are you a Talker?"
Patient nods head, queasy from procedure. I take notes in my recovering head.
"What did you dream?"
I didn't interview anyone and Thank God for my husband. Because without him there, I would have.

The winners of the Hook Contest are posted here. Congrats on winning a copy of Tuesday Tells it Slant!

We get these special visitors when we meet in the Library to discuss writing, reading and critiques. We are detailed people and each moment seems so precious when we are there that the interruptions seem kinda personal.

Tim H, as he said, didn't know if the group was right for him. He came from the street and carried a bag that we all examined. What was in it? After leaving, we all felt it. Prompt time. For Tim H.

Tim H began his morning by giving Bus 47A the finger. For the second week in a row, he was denied a ride.

"Denise never woulda done this," Time H muttered as he sneezed into his left hand three times. He called this maneuver, now a ritual, the Holy Trinity Sneeze, which occurred without fail each weekday morning at 9:16. He knew the sneeze symbolized more than an allergy to bus exhaust. It was a symbol of life: nothing at first, funny at one point and straight up bullshit by the end. Annoying even. But no one ever noticed these things, did they? Life in three sneezes. No one took a moment to figure these things out. And that's what life was missing. Tim H.

When shopping in your favorite store
and time comes where you find the door
be sure to leave some breathing room
for the person who's in front of you.

Let's say they have a purse or tote
and you know this 'cause your standing close
be sure to take a few steps back
instead of resting on that rack.

Within a moment, faces red,
though not a word was ever said
you'll know that you were just too close
when blood is dripping from your nose.

You never thought that younger girl
could throw a purse with such a hurl
that wind felt within the store
was not coming from the open door.



* It's not true, but I wanted it to be. I'm going to create spacers for standing in line, like bumpers for people... large inner-tubes secured around my waist so that the old men in Walgreens keep their distance. Ugh!