So what do I do with my time? Assignments for someone else. Oh, the irony. Or actually, the coincidence. People (and I include myself here) misuse the word irony like crazy. Please don't even get me started on 'irregardless." It's not a word, people.
I'm taking part in something from another blog which I found through my new discovery of the beautiful blog, m.writes. It's her mom's blog, called Travelin' Oma. How stinking wonderful can you get? Grandmas with blogs? What's next? Turns out Oma doesn't just travel, she writes, and she has created a 12 week blog seminar--a free online course. She had me at this sentence: "I learned early that writing is a way of talking without being interrupted." Ooh, also this, which was in her sidebar: "Writing is revealing our common secrets." YES. I'm going to give it a shot. Why not? School that you can opt out of whenever you want to is the best kind of school.
Here's my first assignment, y'all. I like things like this--inspiration is often the most difficult part of daily blogging, so it's nice to have new ideas. Plus, in case you haven't noticed yet, I AM A COMPLETE NERD.
Click the button for a link to her blog.
Day 1: Becoming a Writer
Prompt: Every memoir has a catchy title. What would the title of your memoir be? Use the title to write the opening paragraph. Would anyone guess the book was about you?
Thwarted by Pee
Dammit! The last thing anybody wants to ease into on a Sunday morning is a warm puddle of cat urine on the bathroom floor. Marms the elderly barn cat is living out her final days in the feline rest home that is my master bath. I love her, but she's a complete idiot. Apparently, last night only the front half of her body was over the litter before she let it fly--I can see the paw prints and make a visual inference about which end of the cat was pointing out. Now I'm groggy, grumpy, and the ball of my left foot is gaggingly sticky-wet. Gross, Marms, I think as I hop-slosh to the sink to wash it off. You're totally proving E right about why you can't be trusted in the house. I'm caught between pee and a hard place. I want my treasured orange friend with me for her final days, and I'd like that husband of mine to stick around too. I contemplate not telling E, but I decide that does nothing for the health of our recently-renewed marriage. Stupid pee.
I originally told E on Sunday that if I started a rock band one day, Thwarted by Pee (or Thwarted by P?) was going to be its name. I think it works well as a memoir title too. That same afternoon I opened the trashcan outside and got a faceful of some toxic gas created by the remnants of the same litter box after it sat in an enclosed space all day. Thwarted again. As to the question about someone knowing if it was me, I'm pretty sure they would. I don't know if that's a good thing or not.
P.S. I posted this, and I realize it's totally nasty. Sorry.