Neither I nor Mary have much patience for poetry, with the exception of Tennyson. Particularly his poem, Ulysses. It helps that it's a pretty straight forward poem, which almost sounds like an oxymoron.
In any case, this is mainly a little character sketch of Mary and Ruth. I still don't understand why Ruth would want to dress like a grandma on a regular basis.
I'm back! Miss me? Well, know that I have house sitting and visits out of the way (nice seeing you, Dan!) I think I should be able to keep a better schedule. Or at least a slightly more consistent one.
Poor Mary. If she thinks this is nerve wracking... Let's just say I have a very good reason to not like driving.
I'm Brigid, not my birth-name, but the one I chose for Confirmation. It's a Catholic thing. Want to learn more about how I grew up? Check out my semi-autobiographical webcomic, Mary Quite Contrary.
The closest I've come to earning a living as a writer is one summer I worked as a feature columnist for a small-town newspaper. I've been telling and writing stories my whole life, though, and, hey, it's something I enjoy. Whether I manage to make a buck at it isn't that important to me.