Twitter Tip

Ok, so I’ve had a semi-major breakthrough. Now I must share it with people who may not have thought of it yet. (After all — it only took me 2 years!)

You know how when you’re in your notifications on Twitter, and you click on one of the heads to take you to the person who retweeted you? You retweet them, but then you go back to your notifications, and you’re back at the top again — not at the place where you left off. This is really annoying when you have a lot of notifications.

And yet — I tried something different today. I kept the notifications open in one tab, then opened Twitter in another tab, and simply used the search bar at the top of the page to quickly locate my retweeters. If it’s someone you follow, and mostly that’s who retweets you, it’s especially easy, because you only have to hit a few keys before their name pops up. It more than halved my retweet time, and for the first time in a long time, I was able to retweet everyone!

This may be what I call the “old lady” solution — so if anyone has a better tip on how they retweet, feel free to share!


Blackwood’s Book Editing & Design

Hello all,

Just a little note to inform the writers in the community that I am launching a book editing/design service. For more info on the particular services I offer, please click here.

In a word, if you’re looking for reasonably-priced yet reliable manuscript editing, book cover design, or ghostwriting, that is definitely something I can help you with. If you’re interested in a second set of eyes to help you get your new book into perfect condition for your customers, please let me know.




New feelings

And familiar ones

Novelty mixed with ancient history

More novelty, though

New sensations making me


As I try to fit my own pieces together

As I try to figure out

How your pieces could fit with mine

How I could make my pieces work better

For you

Yo quiero estar contigo, vivir contigo

Bailar contigo, tener contigo

Seven dollars a month

Eight dollars a month

So many dollar signs shining in my eyes

Reminding me that

I am not who I wish I was

I am not what you deserve

I am well-dressed, my makeup is intact

But I am tired

Con tu física y tu química también tu anatomía

La cerveza y el tequila y tu boca con la mía

Ya no puedo más

I wonder what the moon looks like tonight

I wonder if you can see it now

I wonder if I am wondering for nothing

I wonder if I have lost my mind

Possibly in a good way

Una noche loca

Ay besar tu boca


For Lira.


(Italicized portions quoted from the Portuguese version of “Bailando” by Enrique Iglesias. Not my own work.)

The Queen Stole the Bandages

My heart is ticking.

There’s a clock on the dashboard

Right next to the odometer

Telling me how much time I have left.

It’s ticking down pretty low

But there’s no one round to wind me.

Yeah, I’m like a wind-up clock

Waiting for Cinderella to turn my gears.

She hasn’t come yet.

She might not come at all.

Do you have an extra beer?

The Story of Ann Hicks

Ann Hicks was a little old woman who sold gingerbread and apples in Hyde Park in 19th-century London. She was apparently a very convincing writer, because a letter to a certain government official secured her permission to set up a little store-house for her goods.


So she set up a house — but not just a storage shed. An actual house, which she immediately thereafter commenced to inhabit.

“Before anyone had quite realized what was taking place, Ann Hicks was living in Hyde Park in a comfortable brick-built house with a decent-sized private garden surrounded by stout fencing” (Arthur Bush, Portrait of London).


But Ann Hicks’s house presented a problem for the builders of Queen Victoria’s Crystal Palace. You know, the iconic structure of iron and glass which was afterwards relocated to South London?

Ann held them off for a while, and it wasn’t until the intervention of Parliament and the Duke of Wellington that she was finally removed. She was, however, compensated with a small allowance.


I think I’m going to build a hut in the park up the street, get them to kick me out, and then see if I can get a “small allowance” out of it. Nice going, Ann.

Sky Clock

Elastic wishes

Adjustable thoughts hanging on

Purple stars dipped in moonshine.

Unthinkable words

Inaudible whispers dripping from

Her red lips soaked in sugar and dew.



Possible insincerity

Drift through her rose-petal mouth.

The clock outside my window

Is painted in crimson across the black sky

And it’s ticking ominously.