Writers Group At Last at Beatrice's Cozy Condo

Dante and Beatrice Portinari. View this.

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 Nothing more attractive than a man in a beret.

Unless it's a balding fellow.

 Thanks Fernando the Bull for the delicious empanados, meat and raisins and spices.

 

 

Where are my notes?

Lemme try writing sans notes. 

Linda, who I may dub "Dimples" with her mom Jane, read a highly imaginative short story. "Can you see the Real Me?"

Off it goes to an online religious mag.

Allan Heller wrote a fabulous rhyming poem called IN CURTAINS HANGS THE SPANISH MOSS.

You must, sez I, submit it to The Compass.

Fernando is holding his cookbook, front and back pages.

The cancer gene killed B's niece. This photo was taken 14 yrs ago, so the 14-yo daughter has lost her mother.

GONE by Beatriz Moisset

Farewell, Sweet One,
Farewell.

Cancer took your mother
away from you
when you were merely twelve.

Now cancer is back
taking you away
from your children

Farewell,
may your luminous smile
never dim in our hearts.

***
B's oncologist keeps finding new meds to keep her alive.

Martha and her husband David were recently confined at Abington hospital. David had a temp of 103. Finally they found the culprit. Bad meat. Is that right, Marf?

She's already working on her next romance tentatively called ELI AND THE CALIFORNIA GIRL.

Being sick, said Marf, helps her write. She is often visited by her late parents, Eunice and Elmer.

For some reason, Marf thought her story was boring, but we disagreed with her. "Good social and political statements," said Allan, thoughtfully.


I told my friend Marcy from the lowlands of California that I wanted to write a story called Poppy. Did massive research on it, but it's awfully tuff to write, so I never got a round tuit.

Round Tuit.

Woke up quite late this morning. Had my usual delicious two-egg omelet. Scott said I can eat as many eggs as I want unlike Joel Fuhrman, who's a strict vegetarian.

Wrote this poem-a-day for FB. So far, no one's liked it. C'mon college chum Iris, where art thou?   


OH, THE HORROR OF IT

Carl Jung: The wickedness of others
becomes our own wickedness...
it kindles something evil
in our own hearts.

Behind Closed Doors is a
library book I read at
night. Chilling, it is. But
reviewers describe the
ending as "grisly."

We know the woman will triumph
over her captor, a handsome
sociopath from the lineage of
John Wayne Gacy.

As always, the book drops on
my chest as I fall asleep but
then this author dreams up
scenarios worse than the book's

My eyes blink open in fright
but the dream's not through with me yet
more horrors, more inner screams
more fears of torture and of death

Quickly, quickly, I tell myself
when morning comes. Finish the
damn book and get your life back.
I'm not all that evil, only hidden
spots like on the Dalmatian.

   It's her debut novel.

For three weeks, every since I left "the kids" house in Glenside, I've wanted to write the short story DISAPPEARANCE.

As I passed by a house on the left of the street, the address looked like GOD. So that's what my story is about.

Two obnoxious young football players drive up in a Dodge Challenger - amazing how it's the same car as my across-the-street neighbors - and strike up a conversation with God.

Am gonna submit it a lit mag soon.

The next story was one I had halfway completed. Called THE SECURITY GUARD it had a lot of surprises in it.

Any more photos?

B looked healthy and was able to walk around despite her cancer drugs and her recovery from a cold. Immunosuppression is part of these cancer drugs.

 Jane Barrett is a good lookin woman who really appreciates the brilliance of her daughter.

 Dimples.

In my front yard I have flowering Lantana. In the heat of the summer I had to water it every day as it almost died.

Now it's spreading across the lamp post garden.

Go ahead and eat now! I am starving!