I can’t seem to manage blogging with any amount of consistency these days. WordPress told me today that I had 5 days to renew my site or they were giving me the boot. I’m a little disturbed that in renewing, I can’t get that ad off unless I pay, when I was the one who volunteered to have the ads here in the first place. Why did I do it? ‘Cause everybody else was doing it. Well, maybe not you but somebody was, so I figured I should too. Now, I don’t want it anymore and can’t get rid of it without paying. Like a bad marriage.
But I won’t whine any longer. Today, I’m sharing a story from my beloved book of tales, Sock It to Me, Baby. I must also share the review George gave the book on Amazon. I never solicited her to do this but I thought you’d like to know, and I’d like you to know, what’s being said about me and my work (wink, wink):
Ms. Fomby explores the complexity of human interactions in well-drawn sketches of her contemporary “Cannery Row” characters. The characters are presented without sentimentality and with their flaws and foibles intact. The portraits are often harsh, and always humorous. There are the down-on-their-luck folks and the self-indulgent swindlers, the lazy, the addicted, the hypocritical and the self-important. The sketches are boisterous, outrageous, funny and familiar. Ms.Fomby writes with a natural style that draws the reader in. She adopts the dialect of her characters throughout lending credibility to their voices. “Sock It To Me, Baby” is entertaining, hilarious, bawdy and entirely readable. A solid
I never properly thanked George for her well-written review. With her being the smart woman she is, I believe every word she said. (Wink, wink). Thank you much, George. You’re most appreciated, as well as the readers who visit this blog. Now, let me spin a little tale for you, folks…
Some Souls to Keep
What he felt and wanted to say to his dying mother was caught in his throat. She lay, closer to dust than life, and the most he could do was stand above her looking, the memories of faceless men coming and leaving her bedroom from way back. One even peeped in his door and stepped a foot in ‘til he heard her drunken voice calling about bringing some weed back from ‘round the block.
There were no mix of emotions. He felt nothing at all. Not even bitterness welled up. His sister walked in, filled with enough for them both.