I was cleaning the house this morning (unusual in itself) and started to have a series of blog post moments;
1 How often do other people clean their houses?
Is it different when you have children?
A young ones...yes you clean a lot so they don't eat fly droppings and die.
B adolescents...never...they are too old to die of fly droppings and they untidy everything immediately so there is no point.
Is your partner is tidy or untidy? Is there some universal law that you will never ever be sexually attracted to someone with the same level of tidiness needs as yourself? Do you clean up after them or are you cleaned up after? Or do you compromise somewhere between the two standards?
2 The spider next to the light switch in the kitchen flinched as I turned the light on to swill out the more obscure areas of muck...and then was executed by the back of the broom.
Is it better to die quickly or know in advance ? says my racing brain with uncomfortable empathy. A stream of images floods in to my head of dramatic deathbed farewells and of instantaneous motorway car crashes with blood and ambulances.
Am I just thinking of blog posts to avoid getting on with my book?
When I wrote that scene yesterday, I planned it a certain way and then the characters took over and it was completely different. How is it that characters know what they want to do? I should know best after all.
What if they...?
And then Mysweet H comes down the stairs after his bath.
"What is all that banging and crashing? You are manic again arent you? I can always tell..."
9 hours ago