Sorry I'm so late, but this morning I was busy and tonight I had online orientation for my Revision class that starts next week. Lots of questions were answered about how and what. Some have microphones so that they can ask questions and talk to the group but I think I'll dispense with the technological toys and just make do with the chat box off to the side. It isn't really a discussion class, she said we won't be sharing any writing, just listening and taking notes. She hosts forums on her site for sharing and chat. I'm glad; I was afraid that her fans and people who have taken other classes from her would take over and impede the pace of info. Not to worry, sounds like she's taken care of that possibility and understands how much we have to learn in six short weeks. I look forward to starting to revise last November's NaNoWriMo first draft.
January 11--Royal Tern. The big white bird soared over the beach and the wide shallows, floating in the trade winds that blew across the island. There was nothing tall enough on this end of the island to deflect the wind. The hot air blew onshore carrying the salt and sand flung up when waves dashed themselves to death on the black iron shore rocks that made up the windward coast. Ranks of birds hung in the air, terns and gulls down low where they could plunge into the clear water after the small silver fish, long-tailed black frigate birds so high and motionless, and the pink flamingos, their foolish necks retracted and their long legs trailing behind like kite tails. The flamingos , those flashy pink neurotics who brought the tourists, flew over to Venezuela in the dusk and could bring cars to a standstill as they paces in the roadside salt pans patiently seining out their pink meals. For all the peril of life as a bird the sheer freedom implied by their ability to fly make people stop and stare in jealousy and awe when wing beats sound.
Well, isn't that a jumble of perspective and tense? Good thing it's dark outside.