Ten-Finger Exercises

Slammed and blogged

This makes me think of a favorite old Readers' Digest joke that I hope I haven't already mentioned somewhere along the way.

As I remember it, a neighbor came to the door and asked where Joe was. Joe's wife said, "He's in the bathroom spackling and grouting." The neighbor replied, "That's too bad. Tell him I hope he gets better soon."

I'm home today because I feel like 'spackling and grouting,'
but actually I've slammed and I'm blogging and that's a whole lot better.
***
I wonder (again) whether entering contests is a good idea.
Wouldn't it be better to be writing my own stuff? But, she answers, would you be doing it? 'Tis a pickle, and forsooth, would I tickle out the truth then I'd have it.

What brings up the question is that I don't like what I've been writing recently, not this introspective poetry. My last two slam tries have gone on and on without uncovering anything new for me or revealing anything of much interest to anyone else.

They make me think about a blessing before a meal that I was asked to give one time and I couldn't get it ended. I'd wind down with one of the ending sort of phrases, and then darned if I wouldn't start up again. After about three of these I was praying someone would shout, "Amen. Let's eat!"

Who am I writing for and why are valid questions.

I edited the short story On a Hot Summer Day, with the help of L. Gale's good suggestions. I'm glad I did it, and I hope I learned something in the doing of it that will transfer. I have a better story in my port now, but one that probably has meaning only because it was built around its last line, a prompt for a contest.