Oh, man, I knew what I was going to write last night. Give me a minute…or two…um, what was I saying?
Yeah, it’s been like that all month. If not for IWSG, I wouldn’t even be able to write my name by now. Maybe I can’t, but I can write Alex’s name. Um… Cavanaugh, right?
All kidding aside, IWSG is a lifesaver for writers — even when I’m only pretending to be a writer — even when I’m only pretending to write. So whether you’re a writer or a pretend writer, you should sign up for IWSG as well.
Never mind that most of my stories aren’t written down, they still run through my head. So what if many are about poultry? Mom thinks I should write them down. Every time we talk, I tell her chicken stories because she asks about Frankie, the hen I had to stitch up after a hawk tore off most of her chest skin. Yes, really. That story is one of the few I posted somewhere on this blog. Others are still stuck in my gray matter, and maybe I’ll write them down before my hair is as gray as my brain.
Or not. Life keeps happening. Last year I almost starved to death because of a terrible surgeon. Title: Starve-gate Won. Or how about Bones? Got a better idea? Last winter could be Hacked: Winter of Discontent. Or maybe Sick and Tired. Spring might be Still Sleepless in Seattle because I flew up when Mom broke her leg, but it ended with her leg getting amputated: Breaking Bad. Sorry, gallows humor is all I’ve got today.
I think I deserve a break, and not bones. In spite of the terrible titles above, I’m not one to sit and watch tv or movies. Since I’m on a bad pun run, let’s just say I prefer fowl play. Actually, chickens are a lot of work. But I’m enjoying the Easter Eggers, Ameraucanas, Marans, and other kinds enough that I’ve decided to study genetics again… all these years after college. It’s almost like I’m on a mission to make chickens bigger, stronger, faster. Oh, wait… that’s the Six Million Dollar Man. But I am trying to make the next generation go where no chicken has gone before. Oops, Star Trek. Let’s just say I’m trying to make better chickens, one blue egg at a time. Is that a commercial? Whatever. Up, up, and away! Wait, it’s not Superman. It’s just Henrietta, a chicken who likes to roost in trees.
Sorry. Egg on my face, big disgrace…