So, I guess I'll wait

Sometimes when I sit to write, the words just pour out of me. The ordinary event turns itself into a story. The details manifest themselves, and the plot and humor unfold. But not today.

My brain is full of the ordinary tasks of the weekend: the laundry, the dishes, the sweeping. It is not to say that I didn't enjoy myself. I took the kids to the water park. I enjoyed a gathering with friends. I watched a movie (readers with small children who don't go to bed appriciate this as a great feat). But I have no stories. So, I'll wait for one to come. I'm enjoying myself too much to go looking for one.

Smutty Summer Reading

Ok, I admit it. I am reading Fifty Shades of Grey. I have also covered the book in funky black and white covered contact paper, because I would DIE if I were seen in public with it. If I read parts of it outloud to my husband, HE would die. I don't like the main character...she's too....perfect. She's PERFECT. Anastasia Steele, no one is "too lanky." That's code for tall and thin. Seriously. If you want to create a character I can relate to, make her short and pudgy. Don't give her problems remembering to eat. Make her constantly struggling with at LEAST ten pounds (ok, ten pounds she'll admit to, ten more she won't).

So, why then, you may ask, am I reading it? In a nutshell, it's because I don't want to be left out! People everywhere are commenting on this book. It's a pop-cultural phenomenon. If I want to make sense of the non-sense, I have to read it, right? RIGHT?