PB Rippey Writes

In addition to here: www.pbrippey.com and here: http://pbrippeyblogma.com, you can now find me here, right here, right where you are, reading with your suspicions and mistrust and well-guarded interest. Recline. Sip your stiff, p.m. dirty martini. Read the following: What in the wild heck am I doing here? This: Writing about writing, late at night, after I’ve really written, i.e., behaved like a professional writer, the one wearing peacock feathers in her hair as she taps her computer keys, sea in her eyes, beach sand in her ears, beach tar on her perpetually bare feet, her toddler in bed, her husband–(paid) professional writer—in his own writing world, the cats roaming their night-yard, the budgie with beak-under-wing (where oh where can I purchase peacock feathers…).

Take another sip of your dirty martini. Better yet, switch to a gimlet, and read:

This blog is for the writer-in-me waking up to her edits, new writing schedule, marketing strategies. I will occasionally ”report back” here with writerly sorts of impressions gained from other writerly-type blogs just soooooo original or ridiculous or insanely like love. All blog-writing I will do from my bed office, deep in suburbia, where baby finches drop from the trees and hide in my potato vines until they can fly; where cats regularly gak on my printed out poems, as if providing their opinion on my work; where the toddler roars and rarely snores (although this is improving, hence this blog); where I have laid to rest my gypsy life for housewife, or SAHM, or Bemused Mother, the hardest, most interesting job I’ve ever had, requiring the sort of vigilance I’d be wise to turn loose on my writing—once and for all.

I have a middle-grade novel and an adult novel needing attention. Both are finished—one more than the other. One has received positive reviews and requests for full ms. from literary agencies, though has yet to procure me an agent. Therefore, vigilance=edits and marketing and heeding promises and guidelines made in this blog. And away we go.

In addition to here: www.pbrippey.com and here: http://pbrippeyblogma.com, you can now find me here, right here, right where you are, reading with your suspicions and mistrust and well-guarded interest. Recline. Sip your stiff, p.m. dirty martini. Read the following: What in the wild heck am I doing here? This: Writing about writing, late at night, after I’ve really written, i.e., behaved like a professional writer, the one wearing peacock feathers in her hair as she taps her computer keys, sea in her eyes, beach sand in her ears, beach tar on her perpetually bare feet, her toddler in bed, her husband–(paid) professional writer—in his own writing world, the cats roaming their night-yard, the budgie with beak-under-wing (where oh where can I purchase peacock feathers…).

Take another sip of your dirty martini. Better yet, switch to a gimlet, and read:

This blog is for the writer-in-me waking up to her edits, new writing schedule, marketing strategies. I will occasionally ”report back” here with writerly sorts of impressions gained from other writerly-type blogs just soooooo original or ridiculous or insanely like love. All blog-writing I will do from my bed office, deep in suburbia, where baby finches drop from the trees and hide in my potato vines until they can fly; where cats regularly gak on my printed out poems, as if providing their opinion on my work; where the toddler roars and rarely snores (although this is improving, hence this blog); where I have laid to rest my gypsy life for housewife, or SAHM, or Bemused Mother, the hardest, most interesting job I’ve ever had, requiring the sort of vigilance I’d be wise to turn loose on my writing—once and for all.

I have a middle-grade novel and an adult novel needing attention. Both are finished—one more than the other. One has received positive reviews and requests for full ms. from literary agencies, though has yet to procure me an agent. Therefore, vigilance=edits and marketing and heeding promises and guidelines made in this blog. And away we go.