Since I already HAVE the award (through error, or on purpose), I thought I'd better write something here to make it legitimate.
Everything in life is more interesting than it was: people, books, paintings, photographs, but I do little--except write, and give an occasionalk tour at the Asian Art Museum. I no longer cook, or clean the house, or go to new movies, much. I see an occasional friend. I talk to an occasional ex-husband (with whom I have lived since 1966, but we got divorced in '88. he just forgot to move out).
Since May 3, I've published on fanfiction 5 stories and one poem (over 20,000 words)--ya may want to DISREGARD the poem, although some people over there seem to be--at least starting it. I have been prequelling, sequelling, esplaining, and doing everthting to the story, except wresting Ennis and Jack out of their truly tragic lives, and having them live happily ever after. I love to read these stories in which they do, but can't write one. I try to tell a little truth in each story, be it about people, work, or even sex.
I have met an histertically funny, intelligent friend on the Dave Cullen board, whose e-mails leave me gasping for breath, they are so hilarious. He also seems to offer unlimited rides to Brokeback showings, and refuses to take any money for gas.
Sometimes, I feel like "if now 'twere to die, 'twere now to be most haopy," (anyone who's read my stories is sick of quotations!), and sometimes, I want to live forever. I'm 71.
Needless to say, nobody I know in his right mind will even talk to me anymore. Even if I'm talking about the Da Vinci Code, Writing down the bones,, Asian Art, or what have you--they all know in their heart of hearts that I am really talking about "Brokeback Mountain," and a look of suspicion settles in their faces...
I have no idea how I got here, or why Phillip gave me the award (BEFORE I posted here), but it is nice to be in such exalted company.