No, I haven't gotten published yet (and never will if you guys don't call that publisher friend of yours and have her read these things) but I did something I've heard real writers do.
The other night I was tossing and turning. My mind was racing. "Don't forget to take the chicken breasts out of the freezer for dinner tomorrow", "I need to put on another load of laundry, Elliott's out of underwear", "Is the cat in the house?"... you know those kind of inanities. Then my mind turned to my neighbour. Every day she goes for walks taking off at exercise speed down the street. That day I saw her leave her house with baby blue poles for her walk. That's right. Nordic Walking poles.
As I thought about this I started formulating a blog that I thought would be funny. I actually started giggling to myself. But I knew if I waited until morning, I'd forget every bit of comedy gold I was mining. Scott was sleeping beside me and the house was pitch dark. I couldn't turn on the light and I couldn't leave the bed because I'd wake him up. So what's a writer to do?
I opened my bedside drawer, felt for a pen, scrabbled around for something to write on (that so happened to be an address book that is empty yet mysteriously always on my bedside table) and wrote some notes. In the pitch dark. Reading it this morning seeing past the bizarre handwriting and fast-and-loose word alignment I thought I had some pretty good stuff. I'll blog it tomorrow. But the point of this blog is that it looks like I'm a writer folks. This is what they, I mean WE do.
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