Like so:

**************************************************************************************************

Well it’s happened. I’m starting to think in 140 characters or less. Talk that way. Listen that way. Write that way. Between my two preferred modes of communication — Twittering and texting — I’m completely losing my ability to think in sentences that exceed three lines. On the positive side, this truncated way of speaking saves time. I can now answer my kids’ endless questions in economical, sanity-saving snippets. For instance:

Toots: Mom? Why is the ski blue?

Me: That requires a longer and more well-thought-out answer than I can DM. Ask your dad. He doesn’t use Twitter.

**************************************************************************************************

Oh forget that one. I can’t come up with funny questions. Let me try something serious:

**************************************************************************************************

He was dressed in a white golf type shirt, a blue baseball cap, and tan shorts. Typical suburban fare. He brought his iPad over and asked to use a wall socket. I was on the phone and had my laptop and cell plugged in, but he politely waited and then asked again. I nodded, caught a glimpse of the book tucked under his arm – A Year in The Writing Life — and smiled.

I knew.

He put his earplugs in, crossed his arms around himself and appeared to be listening. Meditative. Probably an inspirational podcast or author discussion.

I knew.

He hunched over the table, and appeared meek, nervous, unsure.

To start.

I knew.

The start is in the ending of all that.

The start is in the ending.

No more listening and reading and hoping.

Just writing.

The start is in the ending.

**************************************************************************************************

Oh God. Stylized much? Take it a down a notch. Way down.

**************************************************************************************************

BOOGER (to Toots): Can I use your pink scooter please?

TOOTS: No.

BOOGER: Please?

TOOTS: No.

BOOGER: I will give you Barbie the Mermaid and let you play with her all the time.

TOOTS: Even in the bath?

BOOGER: Not in the bath.

TOOTS: Please the bath?

BOOGER: No.

TOOTS: I’ll be your best buddy!

BOOGER: Can I have your pink scooter?

TOOTS: Can I have Barbie the Mermaid Tale in the bath?

BOOGER: All right.

So…can I have the scooter?

TOOTS: No.

**************************************************************************************************

No. That’s no good. Bo-ring. Let’s get back to writing stuff.

**************************************************************************************************

So the other day my husband said to me, “Your writing is much better lately. You must be back in the flow.”

Which pleased me until I realized that the “good” writing I’ve been writing lately? Is from two years ago.

I don’t know what it is, maybe I felt less fear back then or less beholden to an “audience” or had younger brain synapses?

It’s a bit upsetting.

Which leads me to make a list for “How To Get Your Spark Back.”

HOW TO GET YOUR SPARK BACK…

1……

**************************************************************************************************

Eh, fuck it.