It occurs to me, (usually suddenly in the middle of the night making me leap out of bed with a light bulb over my head that tends to evaporate if I don’t write it down), that you may not be able to make much sense of the order of my posts, or the way that I leap from one pond frond paragraph of ideas to another with nary a bridge over troubled water between them. The phrase, “Crazier than a bedbug” may have just leaped into your head. If it didn’t, then I didn’t do a very good job of planting it there just now with this loony opening paragraph and my witlessly wired title for today’s post.
The problem probably begins with seeing the world as I see it. As in, “Nobody sees the world the way you do, Mickey!” For example, look closely as this picture of me cooking breakfast and pointlessly taking a picture of it. See the star I am cooking?
Really? You don’t? How about now?
Still don’t see it? Well, let me try once more with my artsy-craftsy weird Pythagorean math religion skills to make you see it so you know what the heck I am talking about.
Still don’t understand about me cooking stars in the morning for breakfast? Well of course you don’t. You don’t think like a bedbug. I read an article about needing protein for the first meal of the day to help diabetes and your thinking parts work like a well-oiled machine. Err… well, like a well-oiled sausage, then. And I see stars while I am cooking, because my mind works like that.
So, what does the expression “Crazy as a bedbug” mean, anyway? Well, if you have ever seen a bedbug crawling on your quilts at night… first of all, poor you! I hope it didn’t bite you more than once… but the bedbug seems to travel on all sixes in totally random directions, suddenly stopping, backing up, and then curly-cuing onward in its bizarre little paisley-patterned way. It is unpredictable.
My writing journey has been more or less like that. The first novel I completed was Superchicken, set in the year 1974, in my hometown, Spring and Summer. Then the first hometown novel I published, Catch a Falling Star, was set in 1990, Summer, in my hometown and on Mars. Then I finished the novel Snow Babies, set in 1984, December, in my hometown during a blizzard. I went back to the future… um, a past future… with Magical Miss Morgan, set in the 1989-90 school year in the little town where I went to junior high and high school. It will soon be published by Page Publishing. I published Stardusters and Space Lizards, set in 1991, entirely in outer space, but with characters from my hometown on board the space ship, on Amazon Kindle Publishing this last November, followed closely by Snow Babies, published in the same place with the same publisher. I am now working on The Baby Werewolf, set in Fall of 1974 in my home town again. So my writing journeys through time in total bedbug fashion.
What, then, am I planning to write this weekend and during the holiday? I can promise you, I won’t know until tomorrow… if then.