Well, I started working on this around 1 p.m. today, and I had to be someplace else at 1:30, so I wrote it on a snatch of paper.
When I got home, (from the place I had to be at 1:30) I changed a couple of words, and then changed a couple of them back, and then I let it sit some. (The snatch of paper, I mean.)
Then I came online and read some real fiction over at Writer’s Forum. Liked most of it, and admired the ones who can spin a tale out of wisps of imagination.
So I let my own muse play around with thoughts and characterizations in my head, while I chopped potatoes, cabbage, onions for boiled dinner for tonight.
Now I’m bored with the whole idea (I apparently was gifted with a boring muse), and I’m thinking like, “Crap (I say crap nowadays sometimes. Learned it from my son.) I don’t feel like messing around with my so-called ‘muse’ — it’s so much plainer just to say what you want to say.”
But I figured I’d type out my little piece of fiction. I can type. So here goes. (Oh, I guess I should point out that this is only the opening couple of paragraphs to a potential short story. I dang well do NOT wish to write a novel. Just the occasional short story. … So that I can hide in plain sight, I guess.)
… Nope, never mind. The dinner’s almost boiled and my son will soon be home, and we will eat and then do stuff; and I’ll either shred the piece of fiction, or tuck it in a notebook, or lay it on the counter, or type it out some other day, in some other blog, when nobody remembers that I am hiding in plain sight.