ToIn my world, a universe where things that shouldn't happen do, I'm actually doing okay as far as this "Being a Writer" thing is concerned.
I have an agent.
I have a modicum of talent.
I have stories to tell.
But instead of writing, forcing myself to write, and getting it out there on the page I have been:
Playing online Scrabble. My high score is now 482 points with a bingo on the first word for PEGLIKE.
Listening to Tom Jones' "Mama Told Me Not To Come" and trying to pretend it's not a song of incestuous perversion. Cause that ain't a way to have fun.
Doing my makeup like I was a member of ABBA in the 70's.
Eating a lot of toast with crunchy Skippy peanut butter.
Drinking massive quantities of Coca Light.
Updating my Facebook hourly. Madame ama is doing jack shit. Madame Ama is listening to the radio. Madame Ama is updating her Facebook status update.
Painting her toenails and watching Sweet Sixteen, which leads to me saying things like "wow, really? That's so bitching".
Ending this blog post to play more Scrabble and then maybe, write.
I have an agent.
I have a modicum of talent.
I have stories to tell.
But instead of writing, forcing myself to write, and getting it out there on the page I have been:
Playing online Scrabble. My high score is now 482 points with a bingo on the first word for PEGLIKE.
Listening to Tom Jones' "Mama Told Me Not To Come" and trying to pretend it's not a song of incestuous perversion. Cause that ain't a way to have fun.
Doing my makeup like I was a member of ABBA in the 70's.
Eating a lot of toast with crunchy Skippy peanut butter.
Drinking massive quantities of Coca Light.
Updating my Facebook hourly. Madame ama is doing jack shit. Madame Ama is listening to the radio. Madame Ama is updating her Facebook status update.
Painting her toenails and watching Sweet Sixteen, which leads to me saying things like "wow, really? That's so bitching".
Ending this blog post to play more Scrabble and then maybe, write.
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