harryhero

Harry Hero is a collaborative family writing project. He began as typing practice for author #6 in the mid-seventies. Authors M, 1, 4, 5, 7, spontaneously and sarcastically contributed until Harry took on a life and momentum of his own. He was reborn as a Christmas project in the early nineties and again as a web project in the new millennium. Once more Harry has risen from near tragic and certain literary deaths to live again as blog practice. Bulwer-Lytton judges take note.

About Me

My photo
It seems I have suffered and survived a few insults and injuries to my cranium, thus my memory does not lend itself to one seamless life I could call my own. Instead, my life seems to be one dim episode after another documented by a random and rather odd conglomeration of assorted biographers who, for some bizarre reason, seem compelled to document my trials as if I were a remarkable hero. Heroism can take many forms. Perhaps it is finding fresh strawberries in November for the Manhattan socialite's crepes as she breaks her fast. Perhaps it is found in a multitude of skills, lucky breaks and death defying feats. It may be true that piloting my faithful rig, Betsy, through the Canadian Rockies is not for the weak of spirit, mind or body; I claim no special talents other than devoted love and endless hope. Love of a good truck, a good cup coffee and a good adventure. Hope of self-actualization and...Sophie? If you desire a chronological –not necessarily logical- plotline begin reading at the January 26 2006 post - The Not So Constant Gardener - and follow subsequent postings to present day.

Blog Archive

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Gathering Dinner circa 2003

After a short toilet, Harry went overboard, and hung from his mighty arms, harvesting snail below the waterline using the sensitive hairs on his insteps to identify the crafty mouth-foots, and then picking them off the hull and flinging them to the poop deck with clever manipulations of his prodigious halluxi.
After a sizeable mound of mollusca were squirming on the teak, Harry lofted himself back onto firm footing, and gathered up the ill-fated slugs, descending to his well equipped galley.
Posted by at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)