awww yeah, baby! this is where the magic happens!
The fantastical Manager Mom put out a call for her fellow bloggers to take a moment this weekend and share with others the place where they find their inspiration to work or write. I typically do the bulk of my writing while at work at the bookstore, but management tends to frown and is all, "We don't pay you to write books, missy, we pay you to sell them," so most of my shifts end with my pockets overflowing with scraps of paper and wadded up Post-It notes laden with phrases and idea fragments that I then pillage when I get home in a feeble attempt to remember my ideas. Usually I fail to recall what was so inspirational about "two guys, nipple, bears - hahahaha," thus, you've not been regaled with that tale.
Anyway, because my inspiration strikes as randomly as the above paragraph, I try to contain the magic to a couple of other locations, like out on my deck during particularly nice days. Notice that light pouring down from the left and directly upon my laptop in the above photo?
Yep. That's God, and he's all, "Spread the good word, FADKOG! May your tales of whimsy, panties, double entendre, BOOBS!, and various adorable things your kids do be the balm that soothes a wounded nation." All props to God, yo, because without him there'd be no ...for a different kind of girl.
Fist to chest, G. Fist to chest.
Sometimes God decides to make it rain or plays tricks on me where it's 99 degrees one day, and then like 74 degrees the next (Ha ha, God, you little prankster!), so I write inside. More often than not, it's while wrapped in the loving arms of the above chair. It's not easy, though, because I believe that chair is stuffed with chloroform and it sneaks up behind me while I'm in the middle of a cohesive thought, places a dirty, soaked rag in front of my face, and knocks me out. I wake up anywhere from three to five hours later, confused, with my hair often cut short, and a man in a mask telling me my new name is Patricia and I'll now do whatever he wants. I cannot stay awake in that chair to save my life.
And by "my life," I mean "Patricia's life."
Blame (or credit) the Narcolepsy Chair for those rare times I write really short posts.
Oh, wait! Do you notice that thing next to my computer up there?
It's a skeleton! You know why that skeleton is there?
Because me, God, and Patricia are giving you people our all when I sit down somewhere to write! Bare bones, straight up writing! Damn that I can't remember why I ache to tell the tale of "two guys, nipple, bears - hahahaha."
(It also means my oldest son doesn't listen when I tell him 23 times to pick his stuff up before I throw it away, because he's looking at me funny and saying, "I don't have to take orders from you, Patricia! You're not my mom!" )