Tired Of The Pits, Really Want The Cherries

Thank you to the great Erma Bombeck for the inspiration for the title. Over the years, my writing has often been compared to hers - "like a young Erma Bombeck", "have you read Erma Bombeck?", "so much like Erma Bombeck." - I've heard it for as long as I can remember. Chalk it up to a complete lack of anything in common other than the suburbs, or perhaps a shared need to find the humor in pathos - I'll take the compliment and run with it. It weighs heavy, I may stumble a bit, but I hope you'll enjoy the ride.

I'll keep this brief for a first go, in the spirit of actually making it go. I could edit and rewrite and edit again and rewrite and polish it until whatever ends up on the screen is barely a shadow of what it once was, or it could shine up real nice, or...in the most likely scenario, hover forever in draft purgatory. But there's no more time for that. Check out my About page for a little more insight as to where that's coming from, and bear with me.

I'm not even going to review this first post - a kamikaze amateur move, most likely. But this is the year of leaping, of saying yes, of putting self-doubt behind me and stepping out of the shadow and into the freaking light. Without. Any. Sunscreen.

So here we go...welcome to Magzland, folks...the place where my dreams are made...