What’s not to write?
This brain is a strange thing. It can think of stories to write, filling pages with adventures that never happened to people in alternate universes that don’t exist.
This is the same brain that can’t remember why it told my body to walk out the door to… where was I going?
Probably into the hose-zone to find my missing socks.
I’m told that writing is hard to do. Au contraire mon ami. And, no, I don’t know other languages — but I can ask, “Where’s the bathroom” in Portuguese, Spanish and French. A woman has to remember the important things to say in foreign countries she’ll never visit again.
But, as usual, I digress. Once I get over 3 months of writer’s block, writing is easy.
Ah…the sleep aid I took an hour ago is finally starting to work — at midnight. The Princess of Insomnia is about to take her carriage to the ball and meet the Prince of Sleep, but dogs of war keep hogging our bed.