Well, slap MY ass and watch it jiggle! Welcome to yet another blog about writing! Glad ya’ll could join me. I’m like millions of other women who flex their creative muscles amidst the happy chaos of child-rearing, house cleaning, laundry washing, and day job money making. I’ve heard the call of the Muse. I’ve been procrastinating for some time, but now I’m ready to answer.
It’s been easy to blame pandemonium and drama for not pursuing the Muse. I’m in my tenth year of marriage in a thriving blended family with two great stepkids. We’re thriving because of time spent together. My bio daughter is two, but we struggled for two years to bring her into the world. Last summer my 43 year old husband had a heart attack. He survived, but only after a helicopter ride and yet another midnight haul to the emergency room. So I guess I have some excuses to be a literary slackass.
I’m over the syntactical constipation, though, and I need to pop the cork. Prose like mine does not need to be collecting inside eating away at my parts. Bringing forth the words will save me from paying a psychologist, oncologist, or bail bondsman. I’ll be testing out my craft on you folks, or anyone I can guilt-trip into paying me a visit. Hell, I’m not sure if my mom would read this tripe.
So here I am, creating amidst bedlam. I just returned to the ‘pooter after changing yet another diaper and dancing to a Nora Jones concert on T101 with my husband and little girl. Oops, another interruption--she accidently-on-purpose beaned me in the head with a plastic orange from her play kitchen. Now she’s surfing on my back. She’s leaning down to put her arms around my neck.
“I WUV you!” she whispers. “I’m pooping WIGHT now!”
Delightful. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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