Jul. 2nd, 2007

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Haunting refrain of the day: There's A Limit To Your Love by Feist.

Heard it Sunday and now I'm singing, I'm whistling, I'm driving the person in the cubicle next to me nuts...

Grumble of the day: If a magazine is closed to submissions until X month, wouldn't you think they'd put that on their submissions guidelines page?

Yeah, yeah, I know, Ralan's, Story Pilot, blah blah blah. It doesn't say they're closed there, either.

I feels so foolish.

Such is the writing life.

Bumper sticker of the day: Somewhere in Texas a village is missing an idiot

I go months without seeing any, and all of a sudden it seems as if every car in front of me has one. Bumper stickers, that is, not village idiots. (Though since they are all California drivers...)

Shameful confession of the day: I caved and started reading The Harlequin by LKH. So far it's not as stupid as recent ones have been. There's actually a plot. Edward is back. And I'm several chapters in and no one has had sex yet!

Random quote of the day:

"To make two bold statements: There's nothing sentimental about a machine, and: A poem is a small (or large) machine made out of words. When I say there's nothing sentimental about a poem, I mean that there can be no part that is redundant."

—William Carlos Williams

(Thanks to Bear.)

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