The Little One has a saying they use in her Pre-K class: you get what you get and you don’t pitch a fit.

Bill also kept things interesting by modulating keys or switching to another song entirely while we were in the middle of a song.

Ours is a “meet-cute” story for the ages: I got her at an auction.

I’m in front of 18-22 year-olds every day and sometimes, stuff that works for me doesn’t translate as well I think it will.

It’s not the countless grammar errors, gaping holes in logic, or the lack of critical thought. Nope. It’s the lack of creativity in excuses.

So, this past Tuesday I tore a ligament in my knee. Not one of the big glamorous ones like the ACL or MCL all the athletes tear. No, mine was the unheralded Humphry’s Ligament. I have no idea who Humphry was, but his ligament always gets mentioned with Wrisberg’s. I don’t know, maybe they’re the Rosencrantz and Guildenstern of ligaments or something. Anyway, the whole thing happened innocently enough and I’m still looking for the “lesson” in it all.

I took a deep cleansing breath, and returned to the sentence frags, comma splices, and 300-500 word run-on sentences.

After the Universe applies an intricate and unknown series of algorithms that eventually lead to a writer landing an agent—hot dang a-mighty, Margo, quit your job, I got me an agent and I’m gonna be on the New York Times Bestseller List in a month or two—the waiting starts all over again, this time for the ever-elusive publishing contract.