My
friend asked if I wore sweats on my international flight to Malta.
I
did not.
Writerly = Being Published? |
In
that increasingly inaccurate vision, I needed to look the writerly part. So, I wore a button down shirt and cargo
pants with my urban hikers. Of course,
that was without knowing I’d be hiking three miles across parking lots in a mad
dash to make my flight.
Nothing
says “writer” like an American soaked in sweat on a 15-hour plane flight.
International
plane rides are just like domestic flights, only longer. This means most everyone wants to be left
alone, to read, play Candy Crush, sleep and have the flight attendant pick up
their garbage in a timely fashion.
No
one asked if I was a writer or if I had a pending book release.
Those knights sure knew how to make a cross! |
Then
I tried to find some in Malta. My first thought was get the St. John
eight-point cross. Not as effective as a claymore, but easier to get through
security. Again, utter failure.
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