I made a map of my heart so that I could find my way back to writing and found it led to my Bare Bones….
I wrote a love story.
There was kissing involved and chocolates and I think a sunset or two.
I don’t know what had gotten into me, I couldn’t decided if it was a demonic possession situation or that bang on the head I took when I accidently slammed the freight elevator gate door at work on my head.
Next up I wrote a story about a woman who killed a person just so that she could say she did it. There were chocolates involved and a sunset or three and at that point I realized I had written another love story.
I had no idea what had gotten into me.
Could I be in some sort of rut?
I gave it another try and this time I wrote a story about a strong woman who independant and liked chocolates and deep meaningful conversation with people who were just like her and there were even more sunsets than in the other two stories and what do you know-
I had written another love story.
Then I panicked when I realized that I wasn’t in a rut.
I was lost.
I drowned my sorrows in a few McDonalds cheeseburgers and fries and tried yet again to write.
Who the heck was writing this stuff and putting my name on it?
I did it.
So what to do, what to do.
How do I deal with a woman who has allowed the world to hijack her brain and fill it with ideas and dreams that aren’t her own?
Let’s kiss her goodbye and drown her in chocolate at sunset.
I know, I realize this is a love story- but this is one I can be proud of
it is very, very