Each photo was snapped at a moment of seeming profound interpersonal understanding, of relationship, of trust between photographer and subject. Those those moments are shared with/experienced by the viewer.
Last night, I got back from an art opening, turned on the kitchen light and a mouse (I hope) the size of my loafer ran across the counter top, dropped to the floor, continued across the room and disappeared under the stove.
I screamed (no meek “eek,” this time).
I was watching Judge (Madam, you’re an idiot) Judy on TV when out of the corner of my eye a brown furry-looking thing the size of my shoe scurried under the sofa I was lying on.
Authors have no idea what books cost or what profits publishers make. But even a former English major like me can figure out that authors make next-to-nothing…If only I had a day job, I’d know not to quit it, just yet.
I’m hoping it’s really over between me and Arthur and Jack–the mice I named after old boyfriends so I wouldn’t feel bad if they got caught in sticky traps or had their necks snapped by the other kind…