Okay, let’s try typing for ten minutes. I am on my phone, which is proving to be interesting. I cannot type with my thumbs, as they are much like lady versions of breakfast sausages. Not Mennonite sausages, as I am a godless Anglican (term stolen from a friend). I can’t have that, especially since I use Twitter quite a bit. I don’t want to be followed by some weird Trekster who hopes to start a family. We wouldn’t work out anyway, as I prefer Star Wars.
My girlfriend, Divine, finds my goal of writing for ten minutes rather good. ‘Good’. I need a better word. I will ask her. I usually am very good (again) at creating words just not an expert on using words that exist. I think that is why I do so much better as an Accounts Payable clerk than a wordsmith. She asked if I would ever incorporate these writings into some hipster bookie thing, and I am seriously considering it. My sister thinks it is also a good idea, as long as the publisher makes sure her name is spelt correctly.
“Not worried about being mentioned? I can change your name,” I told Jolene.
“What?!” she exclaimed (did I use that right?) “I’ve had this name for forty-six years, I bloody well own it!”
Divine does not care either. She does hope to be the photographer. I now have to make this a photo-story-novel book. Divine has owned her name for fifty-two years. Yes, an older woman!
Oy, in a good way. *insert wink emoji here*