Pssst! Interpeeps, come closer. Oh c'mon y'all, get on over here. I'm not about to bite. I have a word of wisdom to impart.
Did you know there are THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of authors out there?
And I'm not just talking blog authors here, Sweet Things. These ones write actual BOOKS. The kind that get SOLD. For MONEY.
They make up stories in their little pointed heads, Interpeeps, and they make those stories come to life. Word by stinkin' word, they build and wind and develop and twist and spit and polish a story together that's so fancy you wonder if their mamas shouldn't oughta come right out and slap them for being so smart.
(Or for using some of the language they do or the scenes they write, because REALLY? A-HEM.)
And here's the other deeeeeep daaaaaark secret I've never told anyone about all of that.
I wanna be in that club.
I have absolutely no stitch of an idea as to how to start, though, and even less talent. But wouldn't it be something to tell the grandkids about?
"Yesssirreeeeee, back in aught nine, 'ol Granny up an' writ herseff a honest-to-goodness page-turnin' BOOK. Made real good kindlin' up until we ran outa 'em...."
It's just an idea. It's been running through my head. Pretty soon it will get tired and stop, falling down for a long, uninterrupted snooze.
But for now - for now it's kind of nice to dream.