And to think I had so many ideas earlier.

Personal Notes: My husband fell in love with me when we were both thirteen. I used to pace between the aisles of desk every morning in our homeroom. I've always paced/wandered around while talking on the phone, too. We're thirty now. Today, I realized pacing is contagious, because he was totally strolling around our yard on his cell phone.

Husbands: I paces them.

I had at least three subjects to bring up earlier. And they were helpful, great subjects. I got zip, now. Can't remember jack. It's like somewhere between then and now I put my brain back into the jar of ichor on my bedside table. Why is that? How come I only come up with the good stuff when my body is too occupied with the mundane to allow the writerly part of my brain access to a keyboard? I personally think it has something to do with circulation. I bet I'd be in trouble during channel surfing if I were a boy.

I vaguely remember having a new take on the whole, "Why Do I Write YA?" subject, but wouldn't you know it, in a completely unknowing kind of way, the awesome Mrs. Susan Adrian beat me to it. I can picture what I was doing when I thought if it, even, but that's about it. I need a push pin to stick into my cranial site map.

So, until I figure out what it what I wanted to say, this is what you're getting. I promise to be more interesting, just as soon as I figure out how to get all that literary blood out of my toes and back into my finger tips where it belongs.

Also? I think the letter "P" may be involved.

What? Sesame Street was an important part of my childhood.


Susan Adrian said...

Hee. You know what they say about great minds...

They forget the good stuff ALL THE TIME. :)

Amethyst Greye Alexander said...

*nods* We seriously need a sorority or something. Someone get the writers a communal dry-erase board!

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