Anticipating a blogging drought while I holiday, I’ve been brimming with keeness to write about the joys of tooling up properly as a narrative enquirer, testing the recording kit, replacing batteries, cataloguing and filing the tangle of leads and random pile of adapters and phone chargers (which I’ve decided to store in odd socks which is very very easy since I suspect every sock in the whole house is odd with no pairs at all – one of life’s great mysteries) , getting down the guillotine, unpacking the new laminator (the old one being the victim of a flood a while back) and the glory of making laminated postcards – I do love the smell of melting plastic pouches in the afternoon.
But I got entirely thrown off track while I was getting changed after a Ladies Pond swim and commented on the tattoo of the lady next door – on her hip it just said
It turns out she signed up for a short story/art project a few years back. An american author decided to publish a short story by inviting around 3000 strangers and friends each to have a randomly allocated word from the story tattooed on a part of their body of their choice in a font of their choice. If they sent off a picture of themselves and the tattoo, they would then get the published story sent to them.
So this lady did. And after is what she got out of the hat – better than and or a or but, but not as good as goosebumps! which a friend of hers got (you got the punctuation which went with the word if there was any.)
She never did send off for the book, worried that she might find she didn’t really like it and would have to live, unhappily ever after in the knowledge she’d fallen into the wrong story.