Todo Para Henry
This week I'm afraid (not really afraid, I've got bigger things to be afraid of than this, really -- like snakes, this is always the time of year when snakes start appearing in the gardens (note, I don't think this is the Dickinson-esque fear of snakes, but more of a "these snakes probably are not poisonous, but could, on the off chance, be a King Cobra, escaped from a neighbor's house (where it was being housed illegally, of course) and is now prowling the neighborhood , on the lookout for someone to be startled by and kapow! the venom courses through the victim's veins) and falling rare spotted owls (don't ask, it all goes back to a misguided attempt to be philanthropic... well, not quite philanthropic, I suppose, but phil-environmental, and a really bad judgement call, on my part, to allow other similar inclined people with a lot more proactive dispositions to quote "borrow" my attic space to store, again, quote "stuff," which turned out to be spotted owls, who do not do well in ill-ventilated attic spaces with suspect patchwork performed in the recent past), but you know what I mean, it's a figure of speech, and I'm trying to be kind, here) we've not got much for you. Enjoy the horoscopes. And the beef.
Hip hip hooray! The mails are out! Or were, last week, anyway. Who knows what's going to happen this week? Not me, that's for sure.
Tshirts & clothing: The Sane Magazine Shop at Cafe Press
A Book: Fenway Fiction
A Second Book: Further Fenway Fiction
For you writerly types: Download Writer.app (now at version 1.4.1! Zipee!)
Or, visit our store at Amazon... check out some of the books that inspire or otherwise provoke the Sane Magazine writers.