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I used to be that girl. The smart one. The not-dumb one. Right up to this morning, I think. Then I was looking over (stalking) Facebook on my phone. Because why not? And I saw this link. For Costco cards. (I know. You’re already shaking your head. As you should be.) and this link was...
Becca Wilhite » Blog
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Category Archives: dumb things I doRemember how I love the fact that I’m a stay-home kind of Mom? And that I have all manner of time to do whatever I feel like doing, such as baking things, and writing things, and planning things, and wrapping things, and writing some more things, and reading things, and napping and stuff? Remember? I... Once upon a time I needed to raise the hem of a borrowed Homecoming dress. (We call this the HOOK.) Then I cried, remembering that I don’t know how to sew. (… And Backstory.) Then I stopped crying and put the whole thing off just one more day. (Rising action, friends.) Homecoming is Saturday. (Crucial... Sometimes I tell stories more than once. So stop me if you’ve heard this one before… Once upon a time my smaller, younger family moved to Indianapolis. We found a great little neighborhood to live in, and we bought a cute little house for our cute little selves. The trees were enormous, the mortgage was... Do you have a writing zone? An office? A cave? A favorite table in a favorite cafe? Do you have a preferred writing time? Are you a morning person? A night owl? A moment-snatcher, during naps (someone else’s)? Do you need music? Silence? Chaos? Strangers? Midday sunlight? Vivaldi in A Minor performed by the London... You know when you get in a rut, and food seems stupid and cooking ridiculous and all you really need to survive is a bucket of ice cream and a sleeve of mini-Butterfingers? Well. Shame on you. I’ve never felt like that a day in my life. — I’d rather have Snickers. — Love, Becca I know it’s important. No story can move without it. And I’m learning how to write it. I am. But the thing is, it gets tricky sometimes. Like this time. When the horrible consequence I wrote for my character to experience shows up in the nightmares of my baby. I did NOT read my words... I’m watching for it, that brilliant post. I’m waiting for it to arrive. I stare, purposefully if you wish, at the monitor. Here’s what I see. No brilliant blog post on the horizon. Rather, my head’s reflection, and the blowy trees in the back yard. This is the kind of mirror I can really mesh... |