I was just talking to my roommate (Hi, Mom!) about Stranger Danger (note to self: Add “Stranger Danger” to list of possible band names) and how she prepared her children to keep an eye out for Bad Strangers.
My brothers are several years older than me, so I don’t really know their experiences with strangers, how they knew when someone was out to get them, or when someone was just being friendly.
Before I begin, I really don’t think this post has to be gender-specific, which is why I called this “What’s in Your Bag” and not “What’s in Your Purse” or “What’s in Your Murse.”
I have puh-lenty of male friends who carry messenger bags, laptop bags, recyclable grocery bags, and bags shaped like puppies.
I’m not even sure this is limited to bags. I think what I’m about to discuss has pertained to my desk drawers at work and certainly to That One Junk Drawer I know we all have, so don’t pretend your home doesn’t have one. Sometimes, you just have to toss a bobby pin in the Junk Drawer in case a situation arises and you need it in that room.
I was sad because my computer doesn’t have a painting program that is so sophisticated as Microsoft Paint. If I want to use such a thing to make a cartoon like the one gracing the top of this gorgeous blog, I have to walk 60 feet all the way to the other side of the house and use the desktop computer. And, gosh. I just have to weigh my options. First of all, my room is where my office is located, which I believe we established in the blog about how I’m slowly losing my people skills. What if I want to look up and stare at Continue reading “I just want to blogor my stories”
When I hear the term “writer’s block” it sounds kind of fun. I like to hear the word “writer,” because, welp, I’ve enjoyed writing since I was about age 9. When I was 10 or 11, I even spent hours a day one summer very seriously writing a book. I would wake up in the middle of the night with tremendous ideas about what my characters should do and feel so excited that I had to toss my blankets aside, crawl off the top bunk of the bunkbed I didn’t need but loved, and write the chapter right at that moment. I found my “book” a few years ago thinking I’d have a good laugh at what I wrote. That everything would be punctuated badly (like it is now), the plot mundane (why I don’t do fiction now), and sentences beginning with “that” (um). Instead, it was actually pretty well done. Props, Baby Megs.