Lunch breaks are best when spent writing. 😉
Much about the way I write has changed considerably over the years. When I was a teenager, I often wrote with my friends (several of whom also enjoyed writing), and we wrote anytime, anywhere. I wrote stories during free time in class, at lunch, during pickleball tournaments, and at home after school. Often in the summers, I’d stay up half the night working on a story. Whether with music and conversation or without, in the living room or my bedroom, my ideas flowed freely.
Hot tea makes great writing fuel, especially in the winter.
In my twenties, it was much the same. I had a small office space, but it shared room with my washer, dryer, deep freeze, and litterboxes. With four cats and one litterbox, you can bet it wasn’t long before I needed to take a little writing break, so back to the living room I went.
My twenties actually saw the greatest upheaval
All kids drive their parents crazy, some more than others. Take Thumper, for instance. He’s my baby, the youngest of my four children, and the reason I can’t have nice things. He’s the reason I started sprouting gray hair before I hit thirty, the reason I’m sick of my own name, and the probable cause for any alcoholism his daycare teachers may suffer from.
Just look at this sky.
Seymour proposed on December 23, 2008, which happened to be my grandpa and step-grandma’s fifth wedding anniversary. He had just died three months prior, so it was rather a sad day for her. But not for me – I was anxiously awaiting the end of the day so I could get all gussied up for the ROTC military ball in a neighboring town.
Cricket loves his new jammies. He’s hit the superhero worship phase, and he loves the same heroes his big brother used to love.
Suddenly they all died. The end. 