Anyone reading Ocean over a longer spell would confirm that I am not great at coming up with names or titles. I don't want the words on top to set limits on how someone may read what's below. And so in the title space for a post, I often find myself merely putting in the name of the day. You can't screw up too much with "Sunday" or "Wednesday!"
And so it probably comes as no surprise that my writing project has not had a title associated with it since its inception nearly a decade ago. I call my file Book Notes. I tell myself I'll think of a title later.
Well I'm at "later!" As I struggle to write the perfect pitch letter (and no, I cannot, CANNOT say it in less than 500 words), I know I need a title.
I ask Ed for help.
Mistake.
I throw out one title after the next to lukewarm or even downright cold responses.
Not too catchy, is it... he'll mumble, somewhat afraid of hurting my feelings or giving bad advice.
When I think I struck perfections he'll remind me -- google it. Someone surely has used that before.
Thanks Ed.
So this is my day: after rising way too early to free the cheepers...
...after a Monday breakfast that feels more like a Sunday breakfast because I know my girl and her husband will be over for supper...
...after picking out a few weeds and cleaning the coop and generally pacing up and down the farmette in a ridiculous way all day long...
...and after writing the first (then second then third then fourth) draft of a pitch letter, I come up with a title.
No, of course I wont share it just yet. That comes later. But just so you know, it was a very painful process. For a while, I considered merely titling it "Sunday." I mean, Sundays do figure in the text, so it would not have been ridiculous.
Well, yes, it would have been ridiculous, so I did better. I hope.
Two more quick photos: first, dinner on the porch. Because you never know how many of those we'll have left this year. My daughter, solo. Everything else about the photo was so poorly presented, that I cropped it out.
Second, of our wild hens, having a bad hair day. You have to hand it to them -- they don't seem to mind. Life is all about getting the worm and laying an egg. Who cares if the crown tilts a bit to the side.
And there you have it -- the first day of September. Ushering in the beginning of the school year. Though not for me. This year, for the first time, not for me.
And so it probably comes as no surprise that my writing project has not had a title associated with it since its inception nearly a decade ago. I call my file Book Notes. I tell myself I'll think of a title later.
Well I'm at "later!" As I struggle to write the perfect pitch letter (and no, I cannot, CANNOT say it in less than 500 words), I know I need a title.
I ask Ed for help.
Mistake.
I throw out one title after the next to lukewarm or even downright cold responses.
Not too catchy, is it... he'll mumble, somewhat afraid of hurting my feelings or giving bad advice.
When I think I struck perfections he'll remind me -- google it. Someone surely has used that before.
Thanks Ed.
So this is my day: after rising way too early to free the cheepers...
...after a Monday breakfast that feels more like a Sunday breakfast because I know my girl and her husband will be over for supper...
...after picking out a few weeds and cleaning the coop and generally pacing up and down the farmette in a ridiculous way all day long...
...and after writing the first (then second then third then fourth) draft of a pitch letter, I come up with a title.
No, of course I wont share it just yet. That comes later. But just so you know, it was a very painful process. For a while, I considered merely titling it "Sunday." I mean, Sundays do figure in the text, so it would not have been ridiculous.
Well, yes, it would have been ridiculous, so I did better. I hope.
Two more quick photos: first, dinner on the porch. Because you never know how many of those we'll have left this year. My daughter, solo. Everything else about the photo was so poorly presented, that I cropped it out.
Second, of our wild hens, having a bad hair day. You have to hand it to them -- they don't seem to mind. Life is all about getting the worm and laying an egg. Who cares if the crown tilts a bit to the side.
And there you have it -- the first day of September. Ushering in the beginning of the school year. Though not for me. This year, for the first time, not for me.
