the idea for my novel has been locked in an incubator. it’s my mind. it’s warm in there, but things aren’t born from there. i need to find a way to get them out of the incubator and on the page. this is a start.
i always worry that my food will be overcooked. but i also wonder if i’m overcooked, like done too much, past the point of no return. how do i get back from something like that? what if he won’t take me back or want to keep me?
I watched the fleas jump from my daughter’s pristine head. I wanted to scream, but I didn’t want to scare my daughter. The fleas jumped like a suicidal person to their death in the brown shag carpet. I watched the fleas jump.