Here is a thing. 

I can't be with Ted every night this week. He's on his own, in his apartment. He usually prefers to be with my mom at night. He likes being independent, but in touch with others, like how a family usually rolls, as they wind down for the night. 

When the storm tonight was bad, I called him to check in. He was ok: he had power and cable and snacks, but he sounded a little scared and lonely. We talked about summer rain and barometric pressure. I assured him he would be fine, and I'd call him in an hour to check in. 

I posted on Facebook, an open thread, asking people to send him kind wishes, to help him get through the storm.

The storm of goodness that came through, boy, let me tell you. Big hearts bigger than the Grinch's in Whoville on Christmas Day. 

I called him at the requested check-in time, and told him what happened.

"Oh, good." 

I know that when his phone rings, it drives him crazy, so I don't want to call him again tonight. 

I am so lucky to have a front seat to goodness. 

Writerly Folks:

I was wondering if I could get some thoughts on the following items. I listen to a lot of podcasts about writing/publishing, but those are (in a sense) only one source. So I thought I would turn to youse guyz since I know there are more than a couple writers here.

Publishing

• Is traditional publishing still a thing that is worth pursuing?
  
• If so, how worthy of pursuit is it? Meaning: How much would you give up / fight for that over self publishing / digital publishing?
  
• If so, why? Is there some singular element that just puts it way out in front of self/digital publishing?

Tools / Resources

• Is there a resource you use all the time (podcasts, writing software, website(s)) that you use and couldn't live without?
• What do you most commonly use to do your writing? Pen and paper? Word? Scrivener?

Process

• Do you have a routine for writing? What is it?
• Do you have a production schedule? If so, why?

Why

Just wanted to point out that I wanted to do this post mostly as a discussion starter. I'm curious about the way you fine folks think about writing as work. As such, I'll comment below with my own answers. That way you can reply without being affected by my answers. You can also read them first if you prefer.

Hey oneposteristas,

Apparently posting from Android was jacked up big time.

Sorry.

I am embarrassed to say I post rarely enough from my own Android phone that I didn't experience this for much too long.

But, it's fixed now! I installed a newer version of ckeditor which resolved the underlying issue.

I also added a "+" button for adding the next tag, in case you're on a device that won't let me capture the comma key for that purpose, which has been my own experience on Android.

I devoured this book in two nights.

That link might be showing the wrong cover picture.  Whatever. Jane Steele is an orphan's tale, rags to riches, sexy murderous poignant poetic socio-political mysterious Gothic fun. 

"...we are doers of deeds...and as such lose parts of our flesh along the way, and can only pray to meet friends and lovers who can help to stitch us back again, and that we can make them whole in turn." 

"If a lady ever extends you a privilege — and it IS a privilege — you don't tell anyone. And don't ever think she owes it to you." — My father

Once in high school I was an asshole. OK, one time in particular. I was riding in my dad's car with my brother and a friend, and I recounted a rumor about the sexual activities of a female classmate.

My father pulled over, whipped his head around, and gave me the lecture of my life. Which ended with the paragraph above. I can still hear his voice as I think about it.

I usually think of my mother as the principal reason I have always been a feminist (aka "someone who considers women to be people"), but remembering this, I realize I haven't given my father enough credit.

He started out making a point about her privacy and her reputation, but also said something more important: it was hers to give. Hers alone. No one else's to take, or gossip about, or criticize.

We can go back to arguing about whether we "need feminism" when every father in the United States tees off on his son with this lecture. Well before it's too late. Just in fucking case.

Not "don't get caught." Not "we'll sweep it under the rug so you can keep swimming." Not "next time don't get so drunk, kiddo."

Hers to give. Not yours to take, or talk trash on. Ever.

For a few years now, I've wanted to submit Traveling Light to this theatre company: 

LOOK how CUTE it is! Don't you just want to hug it?

It even has a pub!

Here's their script criteria:

We encourage script submissions on all subjects and themes, but we are particularly interested in:
• New writing by writers of all ages.
• Plays that are politically and socially engaged.
• Works for music theatre.
• Plays about the Kensington and Chelsea area, local history and personalities.
• Adaptations of obscure books written after 1800.
• Plays that are artistically ambitious and thematically expansive.
• Plays with large casts.
• We welcome scripts from international writers, but can only accept plays written in English, Scots or Scots Gaelic.

They want me! They don't even know it! Okay, except for the "music theatre," "obscure books written after 1800," "large casts" and "Scots or Scots Gaelic" business. Brian Epstein lived (and died) two miles from their building! It's a perfect fit. 

And, finally, after years of dithering, I sat down in the back yard with my laptop, some bug spray, and a six-pack of Strongbow, and I re-formatted the script, made it look super purty, wrote them a nice cover letter and sent it. 

The last line of my cover letter, I hope, was not too purple. 

"The summer of 2017 would mark the 50th anniversary of the deaths of Joe Orton and Brian Epstein, as well as the day homosexuality was decriminalized in England. Let's use this play as a way to explore, celebrate and memorialize."

Oh, how my fingers hovered over the "send" button. I took a huge deep breath, looked up into the indigo sky, breathed into the Universe, and clicked. 

Here's hoping.

I did not get into a physical fight with the lady at the burger place who said that 

A) the problem with Wildwood is "the blacks, Mexicans and Chinese"

B) Trump is Great

C) ARGH I DON'T EVEN REMEMBER I'M SO PISSED OFF. 

I did tell her she was wrong, but I'm so angry that I can't remember what I said. 

Today my glasses fell off my face while I was turning around to flush the toilet. I saved them before they fell in. 

WINNING!