When I arrived home, I was exhausted, but the scenes keep taunting me, begging to be written. No, I had my cheat sheet, the scenes could wait, plus I had to get up in a few hours to take the oldest to Seminary. The blessing and cruse of being a mom and a writer. Sleep won.
The following evening, I dropped the boys off at scouts and sat in the foyer of the church with my trusty laptop balanced on my knees. My fingers lightly danced along the keys while scanning the cheat sheet every once awhile. The foyer was buzzing with activity. A couple of women sat down in the sofa across from me. My husband then came into the room and sat down in the chair adjacent to me. “How’s the writing coming? Can you read my notes?” I briefly nodded my head, but continued writing. From the other sofa, I heard Jane ask, “You writing a story?”
However, before I had a chance to answer Ed said, “I received the strangest phone call from Anne last night. She told me to grab a notepad and to write down Casey, heart, cop, bosom. . . ” he trailed off. I glanced over to the sofa and both Jane and Josephine arched eyebrows, looking at each other. I could feel blush rising on my cheeks. “Bosom?” Jane asked curiously.
“Not that kind of story,” I quickly answered; however, I thought to myself, “Write yourself out of this one, Anne.”