Pen Pal GG

I got the best card in the mail today. The front said, "Bad Ass Motherfucker." I don't think I've ever said those three words aloud. Not consecutively, anyway. It was from my friend GG who is like my little postal angel. She seems to have a 6th sense about when I need a pick-me-up, and on those days, I come home and find a funny card or cute magnet or new CD. Her message today told me to write a book so she can brag to her librarian friends that she knows a real writer. While I don't think GG should hold her breath (grad school may be the end of me), I promised her that if I ever publish a book (apparently facebook posts don't count) I will dedicate it to her.

My dedication will say:

"To Georgie Ann [married name if you change it]. For calling me a bad-ass-motherfucker, for telling me I can be an artist, and for imagining a scenario in which I have something for sale at a bookstore. And for all the magnets. You kept me going. I love you."


I hope I didn't jinx it.

Comments

  1. GeorgieApril 17, 2010 at 10:52 PM

    I never read a book without reading the dedication. Writing a book is such a huge accomplishment so having all of that hard dedicated to one person is one of the biggest honors I can think of. I can't wait to have one (because I know you'll do it!).

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Leave me a message!

Popular posts from this blog

"Getting Yourself Home"

"It's three o'clock on a winter morning, foggy, the roads slick with ice. You turn in the bed, away from the man and his thick arms, his muscled chest, the wrists powerful from days spent with hammers and saws. You open your eyes and begin to calculate each of the moves it would take to get you out of here: the flip of he blankets, the swing of your legs onto the floor, the search for your clothes crumpled on the chair by the desk, gathering those clothes in your arms and tiptoeing over the creaking planks to pull them on in the other room--the boyfriend muttering from his side of the bed, or not making a sound, his eyes tightly closed, his head twisted away. And then the search for your purse, your shoes, your keys, your coat, standing with all these things by the doorway, trying to decide whether or not to say good night... ...Just the thought of it exhausts you, and when you contemplate even the first of these moves--the turning back of the covers--you realize the imp
Read more