Poison Pen


“Hold on daddy, my friend wants to trade pokemon cards.”

I fidget. The car’s 50 feet away. Do I have time to run out, get it down on paper then come and get her?

“Let’s go daddy, he doesn’t have good cards.”

She hugs me. I feel a second of calm. She’s a happy 8 year old who talks about her day in third grade. I stare at the yellow composition pad. I can’t wait.

“Daddy, what are you doing?”

I smile, embarrassingly.

“Writing the story about the girl who plays guitar. Something bad is happening to her.”

My daughter rolls her eyes.

*****blogger’s note****

This is my response to my friend Velvet’s 100 word challenge at http://www.velvetverbosity.com/2011/11/10/100-words-of-emotional-rollercoasters/ The one word prompt is WRITING.

Today’s song is from one of my favorite 1980s bands, Hoo Doo Gurus. Lyrically the song isn’t compatible, but I often refer to my pencils and pens as drugs or poison because I can;t stop looking at them and/or writing. Here’s Hood Doo Gurus’ Poison Pen…good song

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11 responses to “Poison Pen

  1. I like the simpleness of this. “SOrry honey, I gotta get this out of my head. Give me a minute.” It’s such a truth about writers, too, isn’t ?

  2. I tried to sneak away from the visitors the other evening to jot down a few ideas… or else they get lost… the non-writers don’t get it… and it’s often a waste of time trying to explain it because nine-times-out-of-ten you will be greeted with the “blank , non-comprehendo stare”!

  3. My Small Boy gets that I’m working on the computer, and he gets that I write stories, so I’m pretty okay with that.

    Now if that would only let him leave me be once in a while. ;)

  4. I now have no less than 3 recording devices near me at all times, because I’ve found I can’t remember any idea, no matter how good, for more than half an hour – then my brain ping pongs off in another direction and all is lost. Note recorder on the iphone, laptops all over, pen and paper, hand recorder near the bed…

  5. Oh, Lance I hear you. If it isn’t down when it’s there . . . well, it leaves of its own accord.

    I can remember a particularly great motorcycle ride when the road and the bike and the scenery started SHOUTING at me. I know it must have looked weird, but I kept stopping the bike, getting out pen and bits and pieces of paper to write down the words that formed themselves into a poem.

    It was one of the BEST rides I had that year. AND – it taught me to keep a tablet in my saddlebags – along with several writing instruments. Keep writing, Lance. Your kids will grow up to understand. :)

  6. Just today my son said to me, “Too much screen time, Mom.” I mumbled something about how I’m trying to stitch together the remains of a post-childbirth identity outside of these four walls. . .yaddi yah. He shut the laptop for me.

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