Notes from a Small Town--
This morning, the neighborhood is fogbased and active with dogs. The ferry has lost its foghorn. The sky is the color of a blank mind. I of course, am thinking about titles. I have titled the morning: Blank Page on a Wednesday. I have titled the horses: Not Interested in Fighting Windmills I have titled the sky: Virginia Woolf's Dress. I have not titled my manuscript.
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I went to see The Women, a play at the ACT Theatre with my mum last night in Seattle. It was good, of course, as I've never been to a bad play at the ACT, but it was definitely not what one may call a feminist play. In fact, the plot was two women trying to win over the husband who was an affair (the mistress & the wife each wanted him). And in the audience, we found ourselves cheering for the wife to get back with her husband and "defeat" the stereotypical blonde mistress, when we should have been cheering for the wife to find a hobby.
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At the Cheesecake Factory (where I ate a huge bowl of apple crisp), there was a woman talking to herself at the table next to me and when I say talking to herself, I mean using a Bluetooth and eating dinner alone. It was sort of like sitting next to a schizophrenic holding a conversation with some personality in her head. I don't think she ever tasted her meal, but she talked a lot about "Loretta" handling things at the office. And "Loretta knows sales." I left feeling thankful I'm a writer.