ONE PERSON'S POOP IS ANOTHER PERSON'S POETRY

Last night I attended a "Writing Show". The topic was writing fiction for Young Adults. I hadn't been to one of these events in over a year, but this topic interested me, so I decided to go. For days the weatherman has predicted rain - and not a single drop has fallen. So - yesterday's prediction was the same - except that the heaven's actually opened just about the time I was leaving the house. Fortunately, every time I had to get out of the car - the rain stopped...but I was enveloped in a blanket of humidity so thick it was difficult to breathe. And - it was DEATH to my hair. A slow death, actually. As I was sitting inside, listening to the speakers, I could feel my hair slowly falling, getting flatter and flatter - and my bangs stretching longer and longer until they rested uncomfortably on my eyelashes. I've seen women whose hair is deliberately in their eyes, and I don't know how they stand it! Plus - humidity and hair spray makes for a sticky mess.

The speakers were not stellar - I really didn't learn anything new...but I did enjoy going, and had an interesting conversation with the woman next to me, especially during the parts of the program when we couldn't hear. (screwy sound system) It is always nice to meet new people. I think we might get together again sometime over coffee or something.

It was really crowded. Mostly because one of the speakers was a middle school teacher and she was offering her students extra credit if they attended. I was seated behind four squirming preteens who were busy texting each other. Guess they weren't learning anything new either!

One writer said that she had an idea for her next book: The Haiku of Poo...not "Pooh" as in Winnie the Pooh...but poo as in poop. I certainly won't be rushing out to buy that one - but it did serve one purpose. I realized that maybe my ideas aren't crazy after all. In my opinion - nothing could be dumber than poetry about poop!