Out of nowhere last night, a literary drabble popped out.
Just like an old tiresome volcano that’s done nothing but grumble for a century suddenly burping out a single hatchback-sized glunk of lava and taking out some poor farmer’s barn, my imagination hacked up the beginnings of a short story, plopped it unceremoniously down on my screen and left me to clean up the mess.
“And what the heck am I supposed to do with that!?” I growled as I stared down at the pile of crisp, choppy sentences my one foray into published literary story-ness showcased six years ago. “I don’t need this. Do you hear me? I have no time for that…that… goodness!” I sputtered indignantly at the stupid screen.
Bottom line: Watch out for your imagination. It can take out a barn.