Fell Off The Log for A Minute

Yo, mice, so sorry about the all-around spottiness lately. I've been deep into my novel overhaul, and feeling enthusiastic about the change in p.o.v. I must say, it makes the whole thing way less fragmented to have it in one person's p.o.v. Of course, it's sort of omniscient first person, so there's that, but still.  We'll see if I can make the whole thing work. That would be solid. In other distractions, my family discovered my other blog that is not anonymous, and they are upset by its public nature. My mother called crying: "We are not the Kardashians!" One brother wrote me a threatening email.
     They are especially mad about the post entitled, "Alien Raised by Rednecks," which I have decided is probably the best memoir title ever. And so true. Can't you just see the cover looking like one of those cheesy tabloids?
     I know that you'll be sad to hear I've been officially uninvited from the family Fourth of July Pig Roast. (That's right, it's a pig on a stick in a pit in the yard, and there are fire-works and kegs of beer. The last (and only) time I went to one of these, my brother Darryl* had on a hat that said, "Fuck Obama." And my other brother Darryl* had on a shirt that said, "Fuck Obama." Red Necks? You decide.)  My father used to parade around proudly announcing that he was a Red Neck. "That's right," he'd say. "Want to see my gun?" So, I'm not sure what all the fuss is about; he always seemed so proud to carry that NRA banner.
     Anyway, as my mother says, "it just seems so much worse when you see it in writing...even if it's true."
   And there you have it.
   My other blog is password protected now to keep call off the guns...literally; also, I don't want to get stuck and stop writing, so I figure I'd just put a little lock on the door for now. If you'd like to check it out, give me a holler at writerrejected [at] aol [dot] com, and I will send you a link and the password, which by the way, is password.

*Not they're real names.