An ode to a grasshopper*

©2022 Michael Raven

I was hit with several bits of bad news this past week. It made me sit down and take inventory of myself and I have some tough rows to hoe for a while if I want to avoid death, dismemberment, and activities akin to what poor Alex of Clockwork Orange had forced upon him in my relatively near future, me droogs.

But! Let us not be so dolorous and grim in this post! Nay, cast off the grumpkins and usher in the grimalkin!

Did you know that I am a published author? If not, it is because I often forget that factoid myself and fail to remind both of us of the reality presented by such a small sentence: I. am. a. published. writer.

Amazing!

If you want to support an independent writer who’s had a rough week and put a big-assed grin on his face, consider buying my book from your favorite online bookseller, or click one of the links on the promotional page I have somewhere in the ether and connected to this site for galdr: thought+memory. It would make me super happy if you did, even more so if you told me you did and that you liked it. Here, even.

It would surely make up for the craptastick waterfall of “everything is not awesome” news. Just… think about it, ‘kay?

*This title is a quote from Jim Morrison when the Doors played the Hollywood Bowl. I had the album on bootleg vinyl and I can’t seem to stop saying it when I can’t think of anything else to say. It’s along the lines of my shouting “ALBATROSS!” for no apparent reason other than it is potentially illegal to shout “theater” in a crowded fire… or so I am told.