A Tad Froggy

This is me right now. Not well seen. Murky on the outside. Rough. Blug. Frozen in dubious water. Were it not for the toddler, I would be an exact copy of the frog fish in the photo, only atrophied. I am not crying woes—just being honest. For some reason it was easier to work on my novel away from  home, by myself with my energetic child and no spouse to take over in the evenings. I was outrageously outgoing. And now I am this. I know it will pass, that my energy will return (I think I wore my child out, too–3 hour naps all week–most unusual), but in the interim—huh. I just totally forgot what I was going to write. Distracted by the frog fish photo. It really does look froggish. Those stocky, wrestler-wide “arms” and webbed “feet”that look as though they’ve got some major KAPOW in them, the tough frog fish on the block, the survivor…hm…In the interim, I am going to return to my Library and continue reading, Alice I Have Been, by Melanie Benjamin. I hear my goals. They have resorted to shouting rude things quite frequently and loudly to get my attention. All I can tell them at this time is: Ribbit (with bubbles). Ribbit (I’ll be back).

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About PB Rippey

Writer, wife, mother, activist, fortunate.
This entry was posted in Avoiding My Writing, Me and Us, middle grade, To Explain, Writer's Angst, Writing Progress, WTF and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Words do not escape you

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