Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

[Another repeat from early blog days while I’m away due to a family emergency.]

I started this blog to be like the other cool writer wannabes. But I’ve been spying on checking out their blogs, and it’s clear I’m doing at least three things wrong:

1. I’m squee-impaired. When someone writes the word ‘squee’, I want to tweet back, “Bless you.” (Sometimes, I take a surreptitious hit of hand sanitizer.)
2. I don’t call people ‘beotches’. I’ve known many bitches (and many… er… male offspring of same), and none of them spell it with an ‘o’. Or three ‘o’s… Not to mention the fact that after my formative years on the south side of Chicago, self-preservation leaves me reluctant to apply the term to their faces, whether as perjorative or endearment.
3. I don’t drop the f-bomb.

Okay, those who’ve driven with me on a motorway here in England know that I’m…