Blogger has a new "Design" button that lets you customize the layout of your blog and I had to click it and I had to change my knitting blog this way and then that and I really just wanted to get on here and post last night's prompt writing because I have to go to Copp's to buy some coleslaw dressing, lottery tickets, and 2 eclairs because it was DIL's birthday on Monday and we've been unable to get together for the present-ing until today. I'm grilling veggies and burgers. Yum. And if I have time (yeah, right) I'll zoom downstairs and sew up the curtain for their door. So now that I've got all that off my chest, here's my writing...
June 10--New Caledonia. "It looks like a chicken," Milo said, and it did, it really did. A big rock chicken sitting on an island-size nest expecting, well, what to hatch? Visions of black and white, 1950s-style horror films danced behind my eyes, visions of enormous chickens from space terrorizing native villagers on some South Seas island. Or maybe it was a race of mutant chickens caused by the emanations of a nearby volcano. Yeah, that's it. In that scenario out would need a pretty young woman (scantily clad, of course) being dragged up the volcano's sloping side to be sacrificed in the boiling lava lake only to be rescued at the last moment by a handsome and muscular sea captain. Naturally they fall in love and sail away into the sunset. "Milo," I said, "I've got an idea. I'm going back to the cabin to write." My long-suffering husband nodded and as I went through the hatch into the ship I heard him say, "you see what happens when you marry a writer? She gets an idea and runs off," but I knew he was really proud of me and didn't mind at all, he's just dramatic.
Jenny and Nancy, thanks for the night of great exercises and good talk. You pulled me back from the brink. Oh, and I've only got a few aches here and there from my encounter with gravity and the ladder the other night. No real harm done.
--Barbara
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