Tuesday, December 7, 2010
11:13 AM | Posted by Lola Sharp | | Edit Post
While spending quality time yesterday wrangling dust bunnies and pine needles in preparation for our up-coming Whoville Whobilation complete with Roast Beast ( prime rib), I found myself doing what I often do when doing such chores: getting lost in various nooks and crannies of my grey matter; sundry thoughts of a meaningful and meaningless nature.
First up was the brief note to self on how good our life is, how blessed. My little fam is healthy, happy and financially stable even in this economy. We've given generously to charities we feel passionate about, and I love that we are able to do so.
The house is festive and sparkly, the liquor cabinet is well stocked, and Santa's bag is chock full of wish list goodies for all.
And, most important, our home is love-filled.
As my brain in December is wont to do, I began thinking about the last 12 months and my dreams for the next 12 months.
But somewhere between scooping the cat box and rearranging faux snow around a tablescape, my thoughts begin to meander, bounce, frolic.
I wonder if that toad my husband accidentally weed-whacked (and we used cornstarch to stanch the bleeding before releasing) lived? Did he make it back to his little toad abode and make toady love and toady tadpoles?
I hope a hawk didn't swoop down and eat him.
I wonder if hawks think toads taste like chicken?
I really need to get a pedicure, this polish has been on since Halloween.
Amazing that it hasn't chipped.
Silly dogs want to go outside again. I know they only want to go out so they can come back in therefore earning a treat. They've trained me well.
*lets them out*
*digs in box for two treats*
I bet these taste nasty. They look vile. Then again, they eat 'treats' out of the cat box.
*gags a little*
*calls them in*
They scramble inside. The little one is giddy and cannot control her wiggling and spinning in angst over getting her choppers on her treat and hopefully, if she's fast enough, the treat of the other dog.
She trips me in her madness as I close the sliding glass door.
I almost fall through the glass.
Hmmm. That would be an interesting way to die. I mean, I'm home alone... the dogs don't have opposable thumbs, they can't call for help.
My daughter would come home from school and find me on the floor. How would she handle that? How would that affect the rest of her life? Man, that is so sad. What would Husband do/feel? What would the cops think? Would they think someone pushed me?
And so my thoughts go.
Thoughts stumble their way to the spark of a story idea. Some random trail of thoughts and questions compels you to follow, to head down that path and see where it leads.
One minute you're scooping cat poop and the next you have a spark-- an idea waiting for you to wrap words around it, make it breathe. Suddenly you are scurrying for a pen and paper, or your laptop, the need to write is urgent.
Twisty magic, that.
Where do you get YOUR ideas?
Are you getting ready for the holidays?
Have I frightened you away with my sometimes morbid thoughts?
(you do know I'm a positive, peaceful, loving person, right?)
Talk to me.
- Lola Sharp
- My name is Lola. (I'm not a showgirl) Yes, L-O-L-A Lola. It's the least of my worries. Let's move on, shall we? This blog is mostly about my misadventures on the journey to publication and beyond. My passion for lush prose, quirky characters, art, music, literature, performing arts and anything creative will be a major theme here. This journey of mine will not always be pretty. Much like rubbernecking a train wreck, I know sometimes you just can't help but look at the carnage that is often my life. So strap on your neck brace, helmet and 5-point harness and come along for the ride! Licentia poetica.
- ► 2012 (12)
- ► 2011 (31)
- ▼ 2010 (98)
Powered by Blogger.