I’d rather be a hooker than a slicer.
For one thing, if you’re a hooker it means your hands are stronger, and if you’re a slicer you’re letting things go at the top of your swing.
What swing?
Oh, the golf swing.
What did you think we were discussing?
I went to the golf course to hit a couple buckets of practice balls. I was working on websites all day yesterday and this morning I burned my finger while cleaning the kitchen, so I decided I needed a change of scenery.
One thing I have to remember – wear pants that don’t slip down. I was wearing a pair of jeans that are too big, and everytime I swung, they’d slip. I must have made a fascinating sight – swing, grab, tug, pull, swing, grab, tug…
It’s a beautiful, crisp day. And I’m back inside because I have to get to work on a story – the deadline is looming like the iceburg over the Titanic.
I got two rejection notes from agents yesterday. I’m trying to sell a paranormal thriller about a woman who finds lost children. So far I’ve sent out three queries and had three (nice, but still) rejections. It’s sort of like golf. There are good days and bad days. Sometimes you get the par, and sometimes you think you’d like to throw the clubs in the nearest pond. The one your ball just fell into, for example. I once made a man fall off his tractor, he was laughing so hard. I hit three balls in a row into the pond. I don’t know why that was so funny. Maybe because the pond was at right angles to me, and far smaller than the fairway I was aiming for? Who knows. Anyway, he fell off his tractor then had to scramble to get back in it before it drove into the bunker.
That day I was slicing.
I’d much rather be a hooker.