Upon level six’s next programmed evacuation cycle, Phoenix’s heart restarted. She then awakened from her “dead sleep”, finding herself half-submerged among a teeming pool of severed limbs and decaying bodies. Flesh, oozing in pustules, pressed against her in her new dark world.
Yummy, right? And there's more. Lots more.
So, as I sit here, in the hot/cold, gloomy/sunny weather changes of good 'ole Texas, I'm realizing the reason a plethora of words are not coming to me today is that I don't have my bunny on my lap.
I need my bunthz! She is my comrade in arms, my muse, my mini-me. My little Lolly Pop.
Oh, you ask...how is it that a bunny--a cute, cuddly, sweet furry big-eared dah'ling of a scrumptiousness has acquired the status of mini-me? And how sick is that, anyway? Blood and guts and a bunny. Dude? I know, it's kind of creepy.
But it's all about my alter ego.
I think all us writers have one, an alter ego. Don't you? Think about it. Why else write?
I'm a mom. Some might even call me Earth Mother, I have so many kids. But do I want to live that AND then write about it, too? Oh, I may blog about my knuckle heads, but really, WRITE a story based on my crazy, little old lady in a shoe, life? No way. I want excitement! I want adventure. I WANT OUT!!! Ha, ha. No, really, I do.
Anyway, this need for being somewhere that I'm not, and never, probably, most certainly, will never be, is why I write sci-fi. And, actually, just sci-fi doesn't do the trick for me. It's got to be apocalyptic. It's got to be torture, and mayhem, and come with lots and lots of demons and angels in the guise of alien species. Oooooo. Now you're talking.
So, back to bunny. How does bunthz fit in?
Well, when your writing a chapter like the above aforementioned, you need a friend.
Just because I write dark, noir, quantum physic time travel fiction, doesn't mean it's always easy on my stomach. And when Lolly Pops is on my lap, staring down the blank screen right there beside me, I don't get so queasy. It's true. I might make a couple of faces at my alter ego's work, but then I just give little wee bunthz a squeeze and I feel like I've just come back to reality. There isn't REALLY flesh oozing in pustules. How gross! No, it's just words. Words on a screen. Yay.
Now I can make dinner. I mean, after going through 4,500 words of that nonsense, if I didn't have something to settle my stomach, I sure as heck ain't going to cook. I'm calling Pizza Hut. And I'm darn well gonna make sure I'm upstairs when my brood starts diving in, getting sauce and stringy cheese all over their lips. But that can be expensive. Already tried that route.
So, actually, having a bunny as my co-conspirator is cheaper. Cost effective. And she doesn't charge. Well, I do pay her in lettuce... And kisses.
How about you? Do you have an alter ego that writes your page for you? Do you have a muse? How about a bunny? Comments welcome.
I will always have her in my heart and mind. She was the truest of friends and a dear companion.
Rest in peace, Loll's.