I remembered the editor who tried to dissuade me from using
the word ‘moist’ in my little book The
Gift Horse (the actual phrase was ‘moistening our hands in the May morning
dew.’) She said it was redolent of a
certain sort of literature, a category into which my novella certainly didn’t fit. I felt this was a bit of a cheek; it was akin to paying the Danegeld,
and so I insisted that the phrase should stand. She wasn’t happy.
Apart from that, there were no stars filling the night sky
tonight, just drizzle. And I had my hair cut this afternoon, rather badly in my
opinion but who the hell is looking?
The only odd thing is that one of the canines in my upper
teeth feels sharper to the tongue than usual. According to Bram Stoker, that
isn’t a good sign.
7 comments:
You're turning into a real bear, don't worry.
Oh, good, Being a vampire always seemed insufferably tedious.
I noticed a bad grammatical error in this post when I came to re-read it. I'm always doing that, dammit. It's corrected now.
Why would you want to be a leech when you could be an ursine, right?
Ah, don't worry about it. I'm often correcting published posts for a day or two after I've submitted them. The important thing is that you're conscientious enough to make the correction!
The only thing I mustn't be is a lion. I would scare myself witless every time I leant forward to drink from a watering hole.
Which suggests a neat little story about a lion who doesn't know he's a lion and is frightened of his own reflection. Maybe he could have a streetwise mountain goat for a companion.
A streetwise mountain goat, you say? You should probably write this.
Except I would change out the goat for an impala. More authentic, hah.
But impalas don't seem very streetwise. Maybe a hyena.
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