I almost sent out a thank-you note to someone who didn’t attend the five-year-old Max’s birthday party. Can’t decide if that would have looked sarcastic, stupid or a really asinine combination of both. Luckily, the wife Sarah caught the mistake as she applied stamps. Kind of like a good editor. Proving, once again, the need for lots of people on any one of my projects, including, apparently, my whole life.
Which makes me wonder if being a writer is perfect job for me, because there are all kinds of literary lint traps to keep my work light and bouncy and that’s why I’ve chosen it. Or, do all these safety nets just make me more reckless, figuring subconsciously, someone will fix up my little messes?
It’s probably some asinine combination of both.
No comments:
Post a Comment