So, I finally find a few minutes to write. I’m sitting there with my tidy and completely outlined story. I put my fingers in position on the keys to type, and I wait. Where are the words? I know exactly what I want to convey, but for whatever current reason, the words escape me. Actually, I think they’re avoiding me. It’s an eloquency conspiracy to keep me in my mundane, stomach filling, bill paying day job.
Wait, I know… I’ll go back to my notes. I’ll re-read some of the other things that I’ve written. I’ll look over the scribbles in the margins and my colored notes to self. Hey! There’s something I didn’t remember writing to myself!
Ohhh, it’s coming now! I feel the creative juices bubbling! Wait…
The bedroom door bursts open. It’s my 3 year old daughter all sleepy-eyed and not-quite-right yet. “MOM! I want juice. And fishsticks. Juice and fishsticks.”
Duty calls…
