Somali pirate. I had a dress out of the same fabric as his "headpiece" when I was in grade school. Photo may be from the BBC. Couldn't find a credit. It was on another blog that didn't credit. These pirates all have automatic weapons and cell phones.
Back to writing. I'm calmer about the whole piggy shopping scene, although the sight of all those glossy adds in today's Globe nearly got me into rant mode again. Not my zebra. Not my zoo. Just keep repeating.
I have a big list of agents to query about Promiscuous Mode, a book my writing group loved, a traditional amatuer sleuth whodunnit with lots of suspects, small town, a cat, low lifes, bass fishing. God, what more could you want?
Anyway, I need to send out some queries about this book, since the sequel is already completed. She's into high tech. He's into homicide. The Northwoods rock and roll . . . yada yada. That's my "Pitch" line. God, I wish someone would just read the freaking book. This business of queries to agents, in spite of all the good advice, is something I haven't mastered. It's like there is this giant blind spot the size of the sun.
And also I need to get back to my fabulous fish robot, Frances, and back to Lotto, the Colombian Drug Lord and his worries and tribulations. I live in a world of strange characters, and sometimes they talk to me. How weird is that? And I listen.
Lotto is a little like the Warren Beatty character in "Shampoo." Everyone wants something from him, and he's pulled in many directions.
I take some of the "props" out of the headlines, like small submarines and Somali pirates.
So, off to the drug wars and the agent battle and Indian Ocean piracy. What a fun way to spend a rainy Sunday. Take that, Baudelaire.