Not really, since that would imply I sew, which is not a talent I ever got handed down through the generations. No, my thread seems to be unraveling via a little white dog.
The second week we got DH’s new hunting dog, she ate and vomited up three socks. About every ten days or so she gets weepy, whiney and mopey, only to puke up another sock or two. You’d think her survival instinct would kick in.
“Hey, Self. When I eat men’s size ten tube socks and wash them down with an anklet chaser, my tummy hurts. Maybe I should quit eating socks.”
But no, she stubbornly snarfs them down only to pass them on the yard or vomit them back up in kennel at three in the morning.
My patience is thinner than an undarned dress sock. Especially when I realize that I’m just as guilty as she is.
As a writer, I have been known to hang by a thread or two. I’ve been guilty of writing the same darn thing into multiple manuscripts regardless of how well it works.
I might as well be swallowing socks for all the good this does me.
My newest find? I’m a sucker for dimples. In real life I’m drawn to them like our hunting dog is drawn to footwear. I’ll have to purge a manuscript or two of these delightful little things before I send them off to my agent.
What patterns do you find yourself falling into when you write? Even though you know full well that this practice may give you a tummy ache on the rewrites?
Words from the Woods 