Food for thought from "What the Dead Know" by Laura Lippman:
Even then, she was tight-lipped when it came to certain information about herself, clear about the distinction between eccentricities that might be interesting and compulsive habits that would mark her as odd.
That was another thing that Sunny never understood, that it was good to keep things back, not volunteer everything at once.
He had never broken the habit of speaking to Miriam over breakfst. In fact, he enjoyed it more since she'd left, for there were no contradictions, no teasing or doubt. He held forth, and Miriam silently agreed with everything he said. He couldn't imagine a more satisfactory arrangement.
Children can be happy when their parents are miserable. But a parent is never happier than her unhappiest child.
Thursday
Friday
Food for thought from "The Whistling Season" by Ivan Doig:
"I looked up destiny in your big dictionary before going home yesterday, to make sure. 'One's lot in life.' That seemed rather short shrift, so I tried fate, and that was better." Rose took another reciting breath. " 'That in the nature of the universe by which things come to be as the are.' "
The mothers dispatched their hearts and souls out the door every morning as they sent waist-high children to saddle up and ride miles to school.
He faced around to me now. His deflated attitude alarmed me. How could destiny leak out of a person so fast?
In impetuosity begins responsibility . . .
(in a cemetery) The patience of stones. How they await us.
"I looked up destiny in your big dictionary before going home yesterday, to make sure. 'One's lot in life.' That seemed rather short shrift, so I tried fate, and that was better." Rose took another reciting breath. " 'That in the nature of the universe by which things come to be as the are.' "
The mothers dispatched their hearts and souls out the door every morning as they sent waist-high children to saddle up and ride miles to school.
He faced around to me now. His deflated attitude alarmed me. How could destiny leak out of a person so fast?
In impetuosity begins responsibility . . .
(in a cemetery) The patience of stones. How they await us.
Monday
I'm finally trying "actions" in PSE (5.0). This is a freebie called "sheris_sketch_elem_two" which I found at http://www.atncentral.com/download.htm. The 'two' indicates that both black/white and color options are included. The result is a much faster sketch than I've been able to create using Convert to Black and White and then Filters, Sketch and finally trial-and-error to get the look I want. For a couple of test photos, I've liked the action better, others I like my (much-slower-to-produce) result better. Using the action produces a good sketch when starting with a sharp initial photo. It will certainly be easy to try the action first. I've now downloaded several PSE actions, and watching them function step-by-step in PSE has been a great learning tool.
Food for thought from The Writing Class by Jincy Willett:
Her house was small and cluttered and took only a few minutes to inspect. Amy wondered, as she yanked open the coat closet door, how she could be so full, simultaneously, of dread and boredom. (see similar quote in The Darkest Evening of the Year)
Amy Gallup was a loner who was afraid to be alone.
Amy was not at the moment worried about the cactus, or even the poisonous letter. It was morning, and nothing frightened Amy in the morning, because her will to live never kicked in until after lunch.
It couldn't have been more than ten minutes since she'd sent the e-mail. Carla must have been hovering like a yellow jacket over her virtual mailbox, must have phoned Harry B., who must instantly have read his copy, and together they had managed a miraculous tandem phone call, and for what? The day was new, there was tons of time, and then would do just as well as now. "Do you ever worry," asked Amy, "that within the next twenty years, the noun anticipation, and all its synonyms, will join the ranks of archaic words, like nonce and eftsoons?"
Her house was small and cluttered and took only a few minutes to inspect. Amy wondered, as she yanked open the coat closet door, how she could be so full, simultaneously, of dread and boredom. (see similar quote in The Darkest Evening of the Year)
Amy Gallup was a loner who was afraid to be alone.
Amy was not at the moment worried about the cactus, or even the poisonous letter. It was morning, and nothing frightened Amy in the morning, because her will to live never kicked in until after lunch.
It couldn't have been more than ten minutes since she'd sent the e-mail. Carla must have been hovering like a yellow jacket over her virtual mailbox, must have phoned Harry B., who must instantly have read his copy, and together they had managed a miraculous tandem phone call, and for what? The day was new, there was tons of time, and then would do just as well as now. "Do you ever worry," asked Amy, "that within the next twenty years, the noun anticipation, and all its synonyms, will join the ranks of archaic words, like nonce and eftsoons?"
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