Parenthetical Poop

Ok, admittedly I’m a smidge late today. (smidge=12 hours)

And after babysitting my 5 ½ year old nephew for 8 hours I am grossly exhausted mentally, physically and philosophically (he’ll be spouting Plato at me within the week… and yes I will be taking notes and gleaming pointers).

So, I have very little useful to relate to you today. (Hardy apologies for that.)

But know that while the posting schedule will be screwy for a while, your blogging crackpot is still here (on your windowsill next to the bird poop, no doubt).

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Blindspot of Character

Children have eluded me. (The point that I no longer have a uterus is not the point here at this bloggy junction. Although I am willing to giddily reiterate every reason not to have one if so asked… which I haven’t been… so, just never mind.)

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the writing of children of a certain age has eluded me? 

Yes. Let’s go with that.

Oh, toddlers and tots up to the age of ten, pushing eleven even, I can pull off rather delightfully. It is their older siblings, the teenaged ones, that scare the living bejeezus out of me.

With my forte being “quirky” characters, you would think the odd creature dubbed teen would be a natural fit for me. You would think wrong.

So, I avoid them like the plague, crafting multi-generational sagas without a single 12 to 16 year old. (Apparently, my age of writing consent is 17. Don’t ask. I have no idea.)

Bottom line: Every writer’s got a blindspot of character. This would be mine.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

No Uterus? No Problem.

The tomatillos live!

I have returned home to Tallahassee and I have found a garden bounteous and brimming forth with mirth. It’s absolutely amazing!

Pictures will no doubt follow in the coming days. (Sorry, but when you follow a uterus-less blogger with no little ones running about from her pre-uterus –less days, you run the danger of plant pictures being showed off proudly from time to time. Please just grin and bear it… well, at least that’s what my dog does when my Mother Nature kick gets a little out of hand. *lol*)

As predicted, I got zero writing done on the long car ride down from Alabama.

Not a word.

Not a syllable.

Not even a stray letter found paper.

I should be frustrated.

I should be guilty.

I should be downtrodden and fed up with myself…

Well, I’m none of those.

I’m home.

All parties got here safe and sound.

And…

The tomatillos live!!!!

Let the choirs, sing, baby!

*grins gloriously*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe