Keeping Your Imagination Happy

Imagination is much like a hamster.

A caged hamster with one of those funny-looking wheels to be exact.

When the wheel is swiped away and the poor rodent can’t run, no matter how strong its little vermin heart may be the hamster will eventually shrivel up and die… of boredom, most likely.

Not having a writing project to spin my wheels on (as The Hushing Days’ edits are far beyond my time and place at the moment) has left my imagination feeling rather useless.

Did you know a hamster is terrible at twiddling its thumbs? Well, it is. Trust me.

I’m desperately afraid that my little rat-in-cute-clothing will turn mischievous on me.

Perhaps try an escape?

Or worse yet, try building its own makeshift wheel in there. (“Makeshift wheel” equals new short story project there simply isn’t room for… The placards of “You will NOT look at calls for submissions!” I’ve pinned all around its cage have taken up any spare room in the old noggin.)

*sighs, while running maddeningly in place*

Bottom line: A hamster wheel is a terrible thing to waste.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe

Tiny Puffs, Breathless Huffs

I really would have preferred a turtle.

Close your eyes and listen really, really hard and you’ll hear it… Tiny puffs, breathless huffs of a hamster running its little hamster legs off.

Before you call in your friendly neighborhood pest control guy or before you start gathering hamster nibbles (depending on your general acceptance of domesticated furry rodents into your home sweet home), let me assure you that this little critter isn’t real.

No actual rattiness here, my friends.

The hamster (as section 3C of the blog audience and a spattering of intuitive folks in the balcony already suspect) is actually me… my brain… well, the back, not really subconscious part, of my brain that runs constantly, manically, like, you guessed it, a hamster in its little wheel.

Whew! That was a lot of hard work just to get to the point that I’m mentally pooped.

Conscious part of the brain is going A-OK, but the hamster-part is about to pull a hammy (that would be a hamstring to the sports-injury naïve).

“Why aren’t you writing?”

“You need to be working.”

“You’re never, ever going to become financially independent if you don’t work.*

“You say you’re not a leach, but you are a leach.”

“You’re a lazy, lazy, money-sucking leach all bloated on your family’s successes*

“You need to be plucked off of their skin and fed to the lame hamster you keep whining about…*

And there you have it. My little rodent at work.

Again, remember I am a writer and prone to creative license. I’m also already under a psychiatrist’s care, so no worries there.

A long time ago and many times since I’ve promised you full disclosure into my writing process…

Well, there you go.

Courtesy of one hamster.

Think I can get that hamster nibble now?

*lol*

Until tomorrow…

Chloe