I was going to write about something really brilliant tonight. Like a real "piece." A keen observation with a "tone," a "voice." It was going to be anthology-worthy! A real writing submission.
But I forgot it entirely. And this time IT WAS BRILLIANT. I just swear it.
I do have some weird feeling it took place in my head as I was about to turn the key in the door downstairs, but that is all I got.
How in this day and age of paper and pencils (why do we always say "pencils" when we really mean pens? On the phone about to give the other person information: "You gotta pencil?") and iphones with notepads and audio memo thingies can I not get it committed to something other than my head? Well, because it was so brilliant, so insightful, I could not for the life of me forget it.
I have about 3 children's book that I am going to write. I started on one about a bird and Paris. I won't give more away --because it is so brilliant and in the wrong hands it just might...sell. And I have one about something else that I cannot think of off the top of my head, but it is written in the margin of something somewhere so I know it is safe. Hmm, where is that margin?
I got an offer to subscribe to the New Yorker for a "professional rate" (see The New Yorker KNOWS I am a brilliant writer of potentially something.) and I am toying with it in my head though I can hear my friend Sue say "Don't do it. We have already discussed this." But I see me getting it in New York and reading it. All New Yorkers seem to read the New York Times and the New Yorker always AND hold down jobs and have summer homes. Ding, ding,ding! I will simply read those too and the rest just has to come.
All I can say is a positive attitude and proper sleep have to be the answer to something. But what? Maybe I should try either and find out.
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