In 2010, I was lucky to lead a team of 12 people to England for a Rotary Friendship Exchange. We spent two weeks in the Midlands, first in Peterborough, then in Northampton, and finally in Loughborough/Leicester.
For five nights, Alan and Margaret Bothamley hosted me, my travel partner Alison Dailey and Sam and Stella Hazel. Four strangers in their warm and welcoming home, where we devoured their food, emptied bottles of gin and partied every night, plastering everything with our colloquial American patois.
Their first question? "Are you and Alison a couple?"
Everyone except me, that is. I'm a shade in this space these days. Offline writing consumes my time and energy. I'm thrilled with the results: not one but TWO books launching in January, and another on its heels in March.
Word Hermit Press selected another writer's novel for publication. I can't wait to help the promotional charge for Lisa A Kramer's feminist YA story P.O.W.E.R., coming December 1, 2014.
A new website is in the works, with the awesome Cheryl and Bill Smithem guiding my techno-challenged steps. After months of data analysis and evaluation in the wake of my first book's birth, I'm shaking some things up, and I'm looking forward to seeing results in coming months.
Enough excuses about my whereabouts.
Nancy Teixeira and her husband won the To Live Forever: Journey to Charleston Contest back in April. Remember that one?
In case you're wondering why I haven't posted, I've been making love to Yankees.
If you are free on July 30 or 31 in the greater NYC area, please make plans to attend the Pop-Up Gallery Event at SoHo Photo Gallery. Regular reader Robert Johnson will have up to three works on display. (I already bought one of them, a wintry surprise for MTM. He squealed.)
You don't have to spend much time around here to figure out I have an interest in history. People don't change much, do they? We complain about the salaciousness of today's news media, but our third President, Thomas Jefferson, actually purchased entire news outlets to spew venom at his political enemies, all hidden behind the quills of reporters who repackaged his words as their own.
Whenever I visit Pon Pon Chapel of Ease, I feel closer to our flawed Founders.