So, I was in the shower yesterday when a rapid knock came to the bathroom door “are you still in there?” KI was asked by a raspy, high pitched voice.
“Why no, no I’m not” I answered back to the curious voice on the other side of the door.
“Then how are you talking to me?” The same raspy voice asked me.
“I’m talking to you from my grave and I’m really just a ghost in here.”
Kids are gullible fortunately because I was able to finish my shower in peace. Then it hit me, I must have a creepy little gremlin running around in my brain or how else or why for that matter would I scare off a seven year old by telling them I’m a ghost and their speaking to me from a grave?
My Gremlin said “why not?” True enough, I thought.
I mean, I was introduced to Alfred Hitchcock at an early age and who’s to say when we should learn about the scary stuff in other peoples heads?
And my final thoughts in the shower were this, why wasn’t the blade changed on this razor, and, if I could get my Gremlin to do a little more work on my book and pay a little less attention to that spinning wheel in my head I may get one of two things accomplished.
One, I’ll get more words on paper. Or two, I’ll just become a professional writer of snippets that want to become a story but could never get past my Gremlin.