There is just something special about reclining on the sofa, laptop at your fingertips, coffee by your side and a story running in fast forward through your mind.  When this happens it’s like nothing else exists in the room.  I become a fly on the wall my character leans upon.  I dare not breathe or she will hear me.  I dare not move or the entire image could vanish.  The words tumble out of my fingers at a pace rivaled only by a transcriptionist.  The scene is set!  The characters take action!  It’s pure poetry!  Poetry, I tell you!  The fly marvels at the sheer genius!  She snickers at a joke made by the hero, “that’s good stuff she whispers.”

(CRASH)

Suddenly my stained and worn sofas come back into view as the world behind the cursor fades into a black and white blob on the screen.   “What was that?!”  I yell from my seat still straining futilely to regain the focus.

“Nothing.”

“That was definitely something!”  As I close the screen, my manuscript screams, “No! Don’t go in there, it’s a trap!”

Finding nothing but an overturned chair, I return to the sofa and attempt picking up where I left off.  The black and white blob refuses to resurrect and the toys on the floor refuse to disappear.  “A trap indeed”, I snort in frustration.  Now I am back to staring at the blinking cursor, in a world where naptime will expire in ten minutes.  That moment of sheer genius may not ever be published but it will encourage me to try again tomorrow.  In the meantime, I’ll enjoy being trapped in Motherhood.