Does anyone else’s eye hurt?
I hate talking about my writing. I really hate writing synopses, mostly because I’m lousy at it…but there’s a fog outside that seems to be rising out of mounds of melting snow. Does that seem right?
A few days ago I tried a gluten free chocolate version of a snack cake that was shaped like a Twinkie. There were six in the box. Now there are only two. I won’t buy them again.
But about synopses…. I did finish my latest project, which is too long for some markets and too short for others, and I honestly don’t know what to say about it other than that it’s done and it has these characters in it and I’m already thinking about a short story involving a character who never appears in the book(ish) but definitely comes from it and….
I swear, the dark chocolate sea salt caramels in the container I bought yesterday are thinner than the ones in the last container.
Which reminds me this is the day I usually clean the house, but I won’t because my thumb cracked open last night…so, what was I saying?
Oh, right…. I never have a problem talking about other people’s writing, distilling their work into two sentences, or a page, or three, but my own becomes mounds of floating blobs in aqua liquid, spawning new mounds after it’s finished, so it’s really not unlike the lava lamp my dad bought me in 1966 for no other reason than he thought it was cool and I’d like it.
Which I did.
But I really don’t understand how divine a substance as chocolate can be turned into something awful, like the organic bar I sampled this morning, so not even close to the faux Twinkies. Now they are brilliant…
…unlike the synopsis scrambling my brain.
Maybe I can send a lava lamp instead.
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