Featured Post

That time I wanted to pass myself off as Joyce Carol Oates #TBT

Image
I submitted my first piece of writing when I was seventeen, a story about my first job, working at the employee cafeteria at General Telephone where my mother was a dispatcher. Rolling the 20# white bond backed by a sheet of thin blue carbon paper into my Smith Corona, I typed it out slowly, carefully, on a piece of erasable paper—and mailed it off to Cosmopolitan along with a cover letter. Not just to any editor at Cosmo, by the way, I sent it directly to Helen Gurley Brown. 

The piece itself, meant to be comical, was full of clumsy attempts at self-effacing humor.  I strived for a similar tone in the cover letter I addressed to Brown, completely clueless that the high powered editor in chief wasn’t the one reading unsolicited manuscripts. After I signed off I added the following PS. I could have said I was Joyce Carol Oates. What I thought that would accomplish I can’t imagine. That an unsatisfactory submission would get published because of a lame joke? 

No surprise, in the SASE I’d …

British Isles Friday: Little pink houses for you and for me.



"Ain't that America, home of the free"?
No John Mellencamp, it's not. This little pink house is in London, on Elgin Crescent in Nottinghill. A street known for it's pretty pastel-painted row houses.

When I think of the colorful—colourful?—houses of Nottinghill, I think of rows of shining happy facades, neat as a pin. My mind skims right over the places where they need a touch up, the chipped white painted iron work of the front gate, the dirt that comes with the drizzle of the rain tainting the cornice over the front porch.

My photos from the trip that took us to London last spring clear the misty haze from my romanticized image, revealing the truth. As pretty as this pink house is, it isn't perfect. Still, I love it. I'm a fan of pink houses, turquoise walls, green doors, houses painted in the colors that you see on homes in the tropics.

They're not everyone's cup of tea, many preferring houses that come in shades of white and grey. How about you? Would you dream of painting a home pink or is pink a color that should be relegated to flower beds, silk blouses and a young woman's lipstick?

Posted for British Isles Friday at Joy Weese Moll's blog.


Comments

  1. Hmm. We saw a lot of pink houses in Martha's Vinyard... Btw, the early pink houses were coloured with bulls' blood!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ew! I'll never get that out of my head now.

      Delete
  2. I hope people look at my face the same way you skim over these houses!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm with you there! Constantly glad my husband needs glasses.

      Delete
  3. I love the door. There are great painted doors in Dublin, too. The fact that some of them need a new coat of paint just adds to the character.

    ReplyDelete
  4. True! Like the Velveteen Rabbit.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Thanks for stopping by and sharing your comments. Insecure writer at work.

Popular Posts

Have Broom Will Travel [memoir]

10 Ways to Know You're a Brit at Heart

That time I wanted to pass myself off as Joyce Carol Oates #TBT

#11 BEACH MUSIC: A time of tans, blonds and hot pants

Marching for THEIR Lives in Santa Monica