I can’t speak. Okay, well I can speak, but I sound like Kathleen Turner. “You should re-record all your outgoing messages while you’ve got this.” There’s something seexy about a woman with a deep voice, well as long as it’s not deep smoker old lady voice asking for a sandwich on rye.
The best part of the reading last night wasn’t reading; it was watching. Seeing faces of familiar, hearing the gentle laugh of a close friend lift, seeing happy eyes, like crescents, and feeling the warmth in their thanks. Thank you to my friends in the front, the stragglers in the back who could only hear me, to my fellow writers, to my blog voyeurs who took the risk at a hello, and to the friends of mine who have become my family. It made all the crap I get worth it, and I’d shout a big thank you out there, but I already told you… I can’t speak.
View the photos (I didn’t take them… until the end) All I can say is, oh my God, I hate that thing my eyebrows do when I talk or laugh. It’s so embarrassing.