Alan Davidson's blog and enter his holiday-themed writing contest? The guy is over there, wearing out the knees on his good oilskins, begging people to send him stories. Jesus, Mary & Joseph, it's getting embarrassing. And don't look at me, I already sent him one – it's up to you now. Only one more week until deadline and he has actual PRIZES. Good prizes, even. So go. Humour me. Humour him.
Thank you. I now return you to our regularly scheduled program.
American Weeks – I may have to rename it American Month if this goes on much longer!
Seriously, though, we're in the homestretch with only two more American writers to feature.
Tomorrow night I hope to get Lou Freshwater up at the River. If you haven't come across Lou's blog at Baby's Black Balloon, you'd better show tomorrow. To me Lou is a female combination of John Steinbeck and Bruce Springsteen. She wears her intelligent heart on her emotional sleeve and her stories always take my breath away.
Tuesday night look forward to meeting Tony Noland, one of the most popular men on the #fridayflash circuit with a happy ton of faithful followers who applaud and converse with this prolific and – dare I say it – sexy male scribe. There's a village about an hour away from me named Norland (famous because Mike Myers sometimes gasses up there on his way to the cottage). So I always have to check myself when I'm talking about Tony for fear he winds up at the Petro-Can instead of his blog, Landless.
I have had so much fun doing this, I can't even begin to tell you. Scarfing back apple pie with Anthony, interviewing John in his bathroom, photoshopping Alan's pix on Uncle Sam, it's all been a blast. Thanks to everyone for participating and everyone else for commenting.
I was only going to do a quick note tonight to let everyone know I took the weekend off but will be back in the saddle tomorrow, but I believe I am incapable of writing short. Even a short note.
I would suck at haiku.
Tonight I leave you with a clip from one of my favourite American musicals, West Side Story. When I was a kid growing up in Markham, Ontario, me and my friend Mark and his little brother, Andrew, would dance around the rec room of my parent's basement, acting out this song. (We also did Radio City Music Hall-style tributes to Joni Mitchell and Jesus Christ Superstar, but that's another story.)
To an unwordly Canadian girl growing up in a small farming community, Rita Moreno's famous lilac dress and her incredible dancing were America. I thought everybody down there was glamourous and exciting and terribly, terribly exotic.
I still love this movie. I have I Feel Pretty on my iPod. I know most of the words to Tonight. And I still cry at the end.