I’ve been embracing my writer’s block like a long-lost pair of favorite jeans. You know, the kind that is buttery soft, slips on, forgiving all your new cellulite, poundage and thicker middle. These pants neither flatter nor do anything for self-confidence.
Then poof!! The writing bug hits, and hits hard like the two-ended flu. Mainly when I’m driving! I’m thanking Don for the iPhone app of voice memos, although I *hate* hearing my voice when I play it back.
Or when I’m just nodding off to sleepy-time with Prince Ambien. “Of course, I’ll remember in the morning.” NOT. I’ve tried keeping a note pad by the bed. But living with a mentally challenged dog who believes it is his job remove all objects from one table to place on the kitchen table in order to get his damn cookie. . .you get the picture. (I taught him the fetch trick, and have used it a lot lately, so I guess I’m the one to blame. But I digress. . . )
Right now, I’m enjoying battling The Bug.
Have you ever gotten an idea at the most inappropriate time?