Bought Trista a sexy, leather corset this weekend from ebay. Quite lovely from the pics. It'll go nice with the new skirt I gave her on Saturday.
Well, I finished up my ya story "Johnny Go-Snotly", polished that bad boy down to 2000 words (no easy task since draft 1 was over 3000 words) and will dispatch it to Cricket Magazine, this afternoon. Yesterday, instead of working on my vagina dentata story for Red Scream Magazine (targeted for issue 4), I decided to take David Schow's advice and write an actioner-pulp fiction story (no, I've never met him, but I recalled reading this tidbit in a book, some place. He actually wrote some of those cheesy action Mack Bolan/Executioner-style novels early in his career; then again, so did Lansdale, who said that the advice he'd been given about them is: good guys growl, bad guys snarl. Hee!). I had a blast, and got a 3800 word story (which, if I can pare it down to 3500 words, will be a good submission for Man Story 2, though I think it'll be under pseudonym), called "Chuck Cave and the Vanishing Vixen", a story of manly men, revolutionary hippies and a hot babe. I actually rather dig Chuck Cave as a character and might revisit him some time. We'll see what Man Story 2 has to say about this piece, since I dunno where else to market such a thing. I hope to have it polished and submitted before Trista and I go to Muncie this weekend.
Arrived at work this morning to an acceptance e-note for my submission to Provocative Notes. Very cool! I was actually a wee bit concerned the story wasn't erotic enough. Many thank yous go out to Nancy Jackson.
Today I am sore. My legs and back are pained. Yowsa. Why? From popping and planting, yesterday. Just a couple of hours, but enough to remind me that I never want to be a farmer when I grow up. :) Trista, Kat, Dharia and Darius have all gone in on a share of a co-op farm. You give them money and x number of hours of work, they give you fresh veggies come harvest time. Trista's coworker Tater sneered at this, calling it "sharecropping". I don't see that he's got any right, I mean isn't he renting a house? It's not like he'll end up with real estate when he's done "paying it off". So, yesterday we dealt with lettuce. I can now eat lettuce with no worries. I busted my back and strained my thighs popping you little suckers out of the plastic starter trays and dropping you on ruts in the earth, where Trista and her trusty spade buried your root systems. Your leaves are mine to consume! Mine! Bwahahahahaha! I am strangely reminded of the delightfully bizarre endsong on Tool's Undertow album about a carrot apocalypse. I whistled the Chain Gang song from Oh Brother, Where Art Thou yesterday, if only to amuse myself. :)