Ode to a Phone

Thou dost live many thousand lives in one,
A collection of all things Mary me.

Contacts, numbers, pictures, texts, more history
Saved to the phone and not the sim card, all gone.

Dead you are and unable to revive,
Inaccessible even to the pros.
Tried and tired, attach here, plug in there
No life! No beat of the electric pulse.

What futile effort? Total frustration.
All is lost but the cost of renewal.


So, I know I’ve blogged about my phone before, and I could see where you might think I have a problem, but really, this is different. It’s one thing to forget it at home but know it will still be there when I return, filled with everything I need to survive.
It’s another to hold it in my hand–the dead, lifeless, flat-screened useless piece of discard.


It’s all gone.
I will have to upload, download, sign up, register, enter (remember!) passwords, etc…

If you care to be reconciled through my new phone, please TEXT ME (same number) YOUR NAME  so I can add you to my contacts, on the sim card, not my phone.

Thank you.


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Matchbook Bias

As a published author and member of CWA, I was able to sell my book, Pocket Money, at the Chicago Printer’s Row Lit Fest.

















Because Pocket Money takes place in 1992, a time before time, eons ago, when it was quite common for businesses to give out personalized matchbooks, I thought they’d make appropriate swag.

Reminisce responsibly.









I was really surprised at the diverse reactions I received when I offered people matchbooks.
First of all, I am not a smoker. Never have been. Not even in 1992.
But I remember grabbing matchbooks from the counter, bar, or basket on my way out. It was a souvenir, a collectible, proof of a great night out, or scratch paper as needed.








Many people smiled and reminisced about those days.
“I don’t smoke any more,” one guy said. Then added, “But I don’t smoke any less, either.”

Sometimes I would say, “I’m not advocating smoking or arson, just promoting a good book.”

Most folks laughed, took a pack, moved on.

But some people…
seemed offended!
One woman reached out her hand and when the word “matchbook” came out of my mouth, she rescinded, tucking her hands up, turning away, and looking at me as if I’d burned her.

When those who seemed disturbed by the matchbooks ultimately told me, “I don’t smoke!”
I would come back with, “But–you’re going to have a birthday this year, right? Gotta light those candles with something.”*

Some realized the innocuous nature of the freebie and helped themselves.
Others did not.

People can be so interesting!

Despite wind and grit and heat and matchbook haters, being part of Lit Fest was a great experience. I sold several books and made some fabulous connections and I may never look at matchbooks the same way.


*I didn’t say it, but it also crossed my mind that in addition to lighting birthday candles, you may need matches because it’s frickin’ tick season!

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Gee, I guess I should thank you!

We’re just cruising through The Writer’s Alphabet now!

Writers may not always start out this way, there are definitely steps of acceptance for critique, but eventually we get there and our work is better for it.

Our future readers thank you, too.

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Throwing Shade

I like to sit in the sun.
My dog likes to sit by me.
Beneath the deck chair is shade.


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F is for many things…

But let’s go with F is for…

Catch up with The Writer’s Alphabet here.

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E is for Edit

Every. Single. Time.

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In Appreciation

And yet…


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