I think he’s beautiful, in all his lumbering majesty.  Husband disagrees.  In fact, I’m pretty sure Husband often thinks my eyestalks also veer in different directions, when the subject of beauty comes up.  I don’t know what it is that makes me think someone, or something, is beautiful, but whatever it is, I have different parameters than Husband.  Discussion a couple of weeks ago:

Me, “Remember that woman we met the other day?  Isn’t she stunning?”

Him, “What, who?”

Me, “You know, that one with the black shirt on and the smile.”

Him, “Oh, I know the one.  Wait, what?  Beautiful?  If you say so.”

and then he gives me the sidelong hairy eyeball, and checks to see if I’m feverish again.

We don’t always disagree on what and who is beautiful (we agree about our children), just usually.

I mean, I look at this little face and smile, what’s not to love about a cartoon character come to life?



It’s all subjective, right?  Yah.  That’s what they tell me.  People, sea critters, fiction.  I’m a quirky old gal, no doubt.  Those quirks color what appeals, and I guess for me, beautiful equals interesting.  But different people find different things interesting.

I’ve been feeling frustrated these past few days.  Mostly due to nothing happening with the writing, blah, blah, blah.  Every so often, a well meaning someone will ever-so-gently suggest I try writing something else.  This usually involves an awkward, pregnant pause, and then the phrase, “mainstream.”  Or for the bold, “marketable.”  I have nothing against mainstream.  I read and enjoy quite a bit of popular fiction.  But it isn’t the way my mind works.  And when and if I’m indulging my fantasies of earning a dollar from my writing, what the hell–I’m going all the way with what’s beautiful and interesting to me.

This morning I was in the shower, thinking about wanting to feel other than crappy, and I thought well, I can post another story here on the blog.  I may not have representation or a publishing contract but I have Fringelings, some of whom like my stories.  And I’ve got this one I particularly like, where I believe I got it right.  I thought so when I wrote it, and of those who have read it, more than a couple agreed.  I wondered, why haven’t I posted it before?    Then I remembered I had planned to sub it to lit mags, in hopes of publication.  This thought was immediately followed by visions of a slew of new rejection letters, because obviously a gal can never have too many of those.  So then I thought hey, I can start my own lit mag!

Between my lack of credentials, lack of contacts, lack of funds, and skewed vision of beauty, it’d be a guaranteed success, no?  After all, there are at least 2, 3 other people in this world of seven billion who share my tastes. Sigh. I need a new plan.

I’m watching and re-watching this video, loving the way she presents herself here.

And for those who might enjoy a more “mainstream” beautiful tank photo,

Clowns pairing

Clowns pairing


  1. You’ve just reminded me that I seem to have stopped writing (my stuff) altogether. It is tough and unrewarding…. until there’s a reward, I guess. Not sure about the first specimen but I love the last ‘pairing’.


    1. I was wondering if you were still writing. Yes, unrewarding until and unless.

      I know, I know, many line up so say writing is its own reward. I’m not that evolved, I want the validation–and the dollar. 😉


  2. I wasn’t going to write tonight. My allergies are going nuts from all the pollen. It’s winter here in Florida and with winter comes first it’s chilly, then it’s warm, then it’s chilly, then warm again. And the plants think it’s spring every time it gets warm. Thus all the pollen. Then another blogger I follow shared Carlos Suara video, then I came here. Now I am inspired. Maybe I will work on a crazy story or a post from the Hamlet files or perhaps the poem I started about the assassinations in France. Here’s all I have got for that one:
    I had a letter today from France.
    Twelve died in the offices of a magazine
    And I thought of the Seine shedding
    The tears of Paris
    As the lights of the City
    Darkened for the dead.
    I had a letter today from France.

    Don’t know if this helps but I write because I love to write. Sometimes when I come off a writing session, I am higher than a kite. Try writing for the sheer joy of writing. Not for the hope of publication, not for the approval of others, but for the sheer joy of letting your words dance on a page.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Don. I love the poem, it’s beautiful. ❤

      Sometimes I love to write, I love to create characters, and at some point I stopped writing for myself–and I don't know how to separate out the desire for publication. Not sure that's a mistake, because the writing itself improves when we remember things like readers, clarity, etc. I absolutely adore blogging, it really is a pure pleasure, so maybe that's where I'm going to stay focused for the moment.
      I hope your allergies settle down, and you can enjoy the Floridian winter–at this moment, from my NY balcony, it sounds heavenly, sniffles and all. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I’ve never seen a live conch! I’m a beach girl, I do think it’s beautiful. The cartoon fish too.

    I sometimes look at what’s been accepted in mags that rejected me, and think THEY have a skewed sense of beauty as well 😉 Then I look at some of the other stories and think “oh.” Because those ones got it RIGHT, whatever “it” was.

    Keep rowing, my friend. (which isn’t really what Anne Sexton’s “Rowing” says but is also kind of what it says. Depending. Ear of the beholder?

    Liked by 1 person

  4. The first novel I wrote was for me. Since then, there’s been a not-so-subtle shift in how I feel my writing. It’s still for me, but there’s that caveat now. Same as with you, mrs fringe.


    Not a sad sigh. Maybe a copacetic one.

    I hope you post the story you mentioned. I’d like to read it.

    xoxo kk


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