Writers Write

The News Fit To Print

This week, fire destroyed a home near ours. I was laying in bed with the girls, trying to get them to sleep when I first heard the sirens.  It’s a odd thing to know that something terrible is happening so close. I heard the news helicopters circling overhead like incoming wounded on a M.A.S.H. episode.  A man died, and his elderly mother was rescued by a passerby.  The burned out shell was covered in a blue tarp by evening of the next night.  It looked neatly packaged and put away.  The loss is devastating, like an open wound on our little neighborhood.  Bad things happen all over. It isn’t limited to the third world or the middle east.  


I went to my writer’s group on Wednesday because Coco told me to go.  When I’m tired, I hate to be away from home. The guilt of leaving my family to their own momless resources wears me down.  


Coco told me, “Mom it’s your group. You have to go.”


I was already late, so I grabbed my bag and rushed out the door. She was right, of course.  It’s my group.  I need to be there.  What was I thinking?  


Bacon’s new job is fine.  We are getting back into the swing of a regular schedule. 


Cherry’s teacher pulled me aside this morning.  She wanted to show me Cherry’s math journal. Ms. M. was almost breathless describing the approach Cherry used to solve a logic problem. How did this happen?  I can’t balance a checkbook without a calculator, yet this kid is growing up in my house. Adoption is a fabulous thing.  


I didn’t meet the 50 page goal last week, but I learned some valuable information about myself.  I’m best when I work consistently without regard to numbers.  Yesterday, I wrote eleven pages.  Today, I rewrote those eleven pages.  I have nothing new, but I’m better.  The new goal is to work every day for a specific amount of time.  


Boy cardinals are red because they eat the berries off of a red bush.  The berries aren’t good for them, but they eat them anyway because girl cardinals like their men red.  Amazing what they do for love.  That’s why I write romance.  What will you do for love?  

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