The first sentences of a story for the Writer's Digest prompt came to me on the way home last night after a Pu-Pu Platter at the Hong & Kong: "He’d been with Hector the one-testicled elephant for years, but not in that way. She was his one and only. But when she shaved her beard to fit in with the other soccer moms, he cried."
We'll see how this goes.
The last time I had any inspiration was when I saw the ad about Werewolf stories and I was in the mood to procrastinate regarding my novel.
But this reminds me--the muse only comes if you let her in, I guess. I rarely save any brain space for "I think I'll write a short story," or walk around with any "I'm a writer" receptors up. This is one of the biggest challenges I have. I've got so much on my plate--how do I remind myself that I'm (allegedly) a writer, when, for instance, my youngest has just peed on my foot or I can't even find a pencil?
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