I have a job for you fashion-knowledgeable person most likely of female persuasion

I wrote a novel.  I’ve mentioned it at times, why hell I’ve even done the thing every writer loves to do and quoted myself, which I also do to dramatically have the last word in an increasingly inane conversation and then walk away. I digress, it’s the weather, stirring up my invisible female parts.

That’s a great transition as in my novel the main character is female and while most of it is a bit of a introspective serendipitous journey, she does have moments where she picks out her clothes, her shoes and she also gets interstellar signals from her higher self on dress sketches from each of the planets.

A friend of mine who is a literary agent  noted that my lack of knowledge of the technical aspects of women’s clothing is obvious.  So, here is what I need:

Someone who is familiar with women’s shoes, women’s clothing and at least a basic understanding of designing dresses and explaining such to read my novel and help me correct mistakes/oversights in those parts where clothing/shoes are described. Also, to possibly glance over the dress descriptions (There are 10, of a page or less each) so they make sense.

This is not proofreading!  It’s just reading the book as you natural lovely feminine self and when I say ‘flat heels’ or something masculine and ignorant, make a note.

You’ll get a nice flat $100 and acknowledgement in the book when it gets published.  If more work needs done, we’ll chat at that point.

If you are that person or know that person please let me know. It should be a joyful read as I’m pleased with the book itself.

Email me (leebarton@calendrome.com) or respond in the reply box below on my WEB page.  Either way, I’ll get it.

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In other news you can’t really use I’m moving from my Radio Shack by the end of July, maybe earlier.   Living in an illegal space surrounded by cops and a Super-Fascist-Orwell Cop camera I can see from my window That Does Not Prevent A Guy From Getting a Cap in His Ass Around the Corner has worn me to the nub. Plus I think my landowners are more vegetable oil than human, unctuous and not worth dipping Ore-Ida’s in for warming.

The battle now is LA or NY.  I never thought I’d consider LA but the prices here for glorified shit-holes look like they’re in pesos, and to stay here means living way out towards the warning track in the left center field wall, to be basebally about it. So I’m tussling, also tussling because I have ground my teeth into an unmagical absinthe powder form extreme stress over the last three years and am working on healing them,. I also have an acting career’s that careening toward me and then it seems to get within a hundred yards and stops off for a martini at a bar on Venus before making it’s way into my physical world.  Everything is up in the air and that’s when I say, I bow down to thee Pluto. Pluto destroys.  Then transforms the rubble into something beautiful, or someone if you’re in my imagery.  I like destruction that gets rid of garbage you don’t want in your life anymore, and I don’t like the smell of garbage.  Grappling down to the nubs.  Home, work, love all are blurry, smudges on the radar screen right now so as things come together or fall apart or both hopefully I’ll get clarity on at least what state I’ll live in.

I promised myself I wouldn’t leave NYC if I felt I still had business here.  I know about moving to distract oneself from bigger challenges that’ll follow you around no matter where you shower. Then again,  the Pacific Ocean is not here.

Life is a beehive.

And remember, “Bullocks to Don Revie!”

 

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