Re: Fun rejection
- From: Eric Ammadon <email_addr@xxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Thu, 18 Jun 2009 05:03:14 -0600
djheydt@xxxxxxxxxxx (Dorothy J Heydt) wrote:
In article <n5ci35hbkvffdv99jarepum08pc2bjgffu@xxxxxxx>,
Alma Hromic Deckert <anghara@xxxxxxxxx> wrote:
On Wed, 17 Jun 2009 17:13:30 +0100, Jacey Bedford
<lookinsig@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
In message
<f7a7ac22-966b-40a8-9218-38772f3caa9b@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>,
Nicky <nicky.matthews@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx> writes
"Julian Flood has been a bus conductor, a nuclear bomber pilot
and a horticultural grower. He has featured on BBC Look East as
the most interesting man in Coney Weston** singing 'These Bones
Gonna Rise Again' and typing out his latest novel, has flown at
80 ft across the Nevada desert while being chased by F4 Phantoms,
been down to 100 fathoms in the oldest submarine in the RN --
which creaked alarmingly -- and has been featured in the Daily
Telegraph (and The Lady) as the captain of the best bomber crew
in the Western world. He holds a world record for playing the
penny whistle at over 500 mph while flying a Buccaneer with his
knees at 150 ft, crossed the Atlantic in 3 hrs 45 mins before
Concorde was in production and sung 'When This Bloody Tour Is
Over' to the Governor and Lady Mave when drunk at a Falkland
Islands Guest Night. A large photograph on the front of The Daily
Sketch -- that dates me -- showed him kissing the Industrial
Editor's daughter with Keith Mans MP on the other side. He can
make a pub go silent with a soulful rendition of Steady Boys Walk
On, can make it jump with skiffle, has had a Spridget since 1970
and learnt to fly before he could drive. He has made a fat lady
fall laughing off her seat while lecturing on climbing plants,
can talk to 200 and sing to 300 people. He has several bonsai and
three leather jackets which he realised, after a workshop with
Iain Banks, are de rigeur. The leather jackets, not the bonsai.
When he was a boy he had a tame magpie."
Applause.
:-)
This is the best I can do with mine (without actually telling lies).
Jacey Bedford is a compulsive writer who lives a thousand feet up on the
edge of the Yorkshire Pennines, in a 200 year old stone house that is
the first thing to be hit when the wind howls off the moor. She has been
a librarian, a postmistress, a rag-doll maker and a folk singer -
performing to 20,000 people at the Philadelphia Folk Festival, 200
people on the gun deck of HMS Victory and 3 people and the landlord's
dog at a pub in Kent in the middle of a snowstorm. Her claim to fame is
that she once sang live on BBC Radio 4 accompanied by Doctor Who playing
spoons. She's recorded 12 CDs and completed 31 transatlantic singing
tours. Her present day-job is tour manager and music-mum to several
international folk bands. She can ride a horse, make a passable soup
from six iron nails (as long as they're magic) and write a web page, but
she can't add up a column of figures twice and get the same total or
play more than three chords on a concertina. She loves harmony singing,
her family, words and chocolate, and hates cigarettes, fashion, football
and 'traveler' spelled with one L, not necessarily all in that order.
She has a stationery fetish and truly believes that a blank notebook has
unlimited potential for creativity. She's determined that however old
she gets she will not grow up and follows the golden rule that: 'life is
too short for housework.'
All RIGHT, dammit.
Born Alma Hromic, married Alma Deckert, and writing as (and probably
best known as, in the Internet-enabled world) Alma Alexander, this was
clearly a girl meant for complex and mutliple identities. She is a
professional tumbleweed, having lived in seven countries on four
continents before she was forty - and has held four different
passports in her life. She has lived in almost a dozen different
homes, some for only a few months, others for over a decade - and in
between all the moving she has travelled quite extensively. She's
stood in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower; she climbed a volcano in New
Zealand; she swam with dolphins in the South Seas; she ski-ed (that is
an damned awkward word) the Canadian Rockies; she's gazed on the
Niagara Falls and into the Grand Canyon; she's hugged a redwood tree,
and walked a nightingale floor dating from medieval Japan. She has
eaten alligator. She has stumbled out of haunted ancient battlefields
with her head full of ghostly voices. She has, in turn,been immensely
wise and wholly stupid, and knows the price of both those things. She
loves music, and books, and snow, and whales, and wolves, and
birdsong, and lilac, and generosity, and (above all else) coffee. She
hates hypocrisy, humidity, having to swallow pills, waiting, and
cruelty to animals. She frequently has a very messy desk, but it isn't
chaos, just creative filing (and you should see what the inside of her
mind looks like). She has - and intends to have - no children, but
consoles herself with her 10 (to date) published books, two
outrageously spoiled cats, and one occasionally misguided but
nevertheless always staunchly supportive and loving husband. That's
enough to on with; if you want to know more, go lurk while she witters
on her blog.
Well, this was mine, back when I was still writing things and
submitting them.
Dorothy Heydt was conceived before the US got into World War II and
born during it, which makes her technically not a baby-boomer.
She majored in linguistics, which provided her with much
amusement but no money, and spent most of her working life as a
secretary. She lives in Albany, California, and has one husband,
two grown children, several cats, several computers, and Chronic
Fatigue Syndrome. She has published several dozen short stories
and two novels (The Interior Life by "Katherine Blake" and A
Point of Honor). Nowadays she writes a little, gardens a little,
sleeps a lot, and plays The Lord of the Rings Online.
Not nearly as exciting as some of you guys.
Dorothy J. Heydt
Vallejo, California
djheydt at hotmail dot com
Should you wish to email me, you'd better use the hotmail edress.
Kithrup is getting too damn much spam, even with the sysop's filters.
Eric Ammadon is a fortunate simpleton who lives two miles up in the
Colorado Rocky Mountains, ventures no more often than necessary to the
lowlands for provisions and, when not employed as his own forrester or
shoveller of snow, prefers to write novels of little merit and no
sanity whatsoever. The madman is a philosopher, artisan, and degreed
computer scientist, and has served as an indentured software
developer, technical writer, maintainer of industrial buildings,
sharpener of things dulled, rejector of garbage, deliverer of
miscelleny, and pumper of gasoline (not to mention those other forms
of slavery best forgotten). He lives with his wife in a small cottage
they built together, finds the weather insufferable and is thus
modifying it to suit his taste (to the apparant displeasure of the
masses), and has every intention of croaking off in his own forest,
the sooner the better. He and his wife subsist by drinking the
morning dew and breathing the clear mountain air.
--
http://fictionfromnobody.blogspot.com
.
- References:
- Fun rejection
- From: JF
- Re: Fun rejection
- From: Nicky
- Re: Fun rejection
- From: Jacey Bedford
- Re: Fun rejection
- From: Alma Hromic Deckert
- Re: Fun rejection
- From: Dorothy J Heydt
- Fun rejection
- Prev by Date: Re: Fun rejection
- Next by Date: Re: So Long and Thanks for the Fish
- Previous by thread: Re: Fun rejection
- Next by thread: Re: Fun rejection
- Index(es):
Relevant Pages
|
