I've been working on writing a fantasy novel for a very long time (more than a decade) but it's turning out to be more terrible than a one-eyed troll whose feeling very angry because of his hot hemorrhoidal flare-ups.The following couple of paragraphs are NOT from that book . . . but if they were . . . my novel would probably be a best seller and I wrote these lines while just trying to be funny. I didn't care how the story unfolded. . . (see below).
Driving around with a gargoyle in the passenger seat because my husband couldn't make it . . . I tried really hard to remember happier times (even while such joyous experiences proved very far and few between . . . in fact I could not remember ever feeling happy at all).
Oh okay . . . so I could remember feeling PROUD at least one time or two in my life, such as that time when I took my 4-year-old daughter on a very first date with a lover-actor who played Jack Sparrow in The "Pirates Of The Caribbean" and when she had to throw up from the back seat she barfed all over his back instead of upon mine . . . That's when I realized: I had trained her well! (And I felt proud.)
Actually? Maybe I'm not really making those lines up. I'm sure somewhere in my not-too-distant past something really embarrassing and smelly like that really happened . . . I can tell from the look on Jack Sparrow's face (pictured, above) that he has a distant memory of it too and he seems to be pointing at me; as I grovel on the ground, trying to crawl close enough to him to beg: "Take me back!".
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