 I've been a bit stuck lately, writing-wise. I don't get much into the muse-myth (sparkly ideas landing unbidden on my shoulder) or the notion of writer's block (bricks—unbidden as well— blamming down to squash the sparkle). I'm pretty much of the school that believes that you just pull up your big-girl underpants and get the work done. One of the things I do to get in the mood when I'm not in the mood is take a little side-trip through my Drafts folder in search of an idea to kick-start my ambition. The Drafts are little baubles that once caught my eye, but didn't quite make the cut on paper. In theory, what once glittered is still gold, but that doesn't always prove to be the case. This example, for instance, which just last night I hauled up from the muck: No one knew where the cat came from, but there it was in stereotypical blackness, hunkered behind the baptismal font, ready to strike. Huh????? I have absolutely no idea where that came from, nor do I now find that passage the least bit interesting, but it does get me thinking about baptismal fonts and black cats:
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Which gets me thinking about mosaics and Halloween:
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Which gets me thinking about witches and food:
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Which gets me thinking about television and good food:
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Which gets me thinking about France and French cooking:
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| Which gets me thinking about Julia Child and that poem about her I've been hungry to write . . . So what have I been stalling around for? |
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