I usually don’t do these but this was intriguing…
If you saw ME in a police car, what would you think I’d been arrested for?
Answer me *comment* , then if you want, post to your own journal and see how many crimes you get accused of.
Courtesy of Sue
It’s not an easy thing. There are so damn many ideas floating around in this head of mine, inspirations, snippits of poems and alliterations - and they all run out of my ears like so much water. I could have written a novel alone on the ideas that came to me in the middle of the night, only to be forgotten when the screams of Daddy, Mommy pierce the air. It’s love, not duty that has me abandon the idea of having a bedside notebook full of ideas - I couldn’t spend enough time writing them down before I’d run to my daughter’s side.
Pens seem to attract kids most of all, or at least my kid. Sure, she knows what to do with the pen (scribble, write her name, decorate her fingers with stains) and she wants to know why I’m keeping this fun toy from her. Open your Moleskine, poise your pen over the cream paper and… “Mom, can I write? Mom, mommy, mom? (Bang bongo drum that seemed like a good, cultural toy when you purchased it). Mom, I’m hungry. Mom, give me that pen…”
Funnily enough, she’s giving me full access to this piece of writing, this complaint. But if she smelled creativity on the air, well, it would be all over, buster.