Clearly Written Fortune (Knock, Knock)

I had a Fortune Cookie Breakfast this morning after I clocked in at work.

This is how Mondays often roll around here, because my children are actually Recombinant DNA tree sloths and what with getting them awake(ish) and dressed and brushed and combed and braided and Show-and-Tell itemed and shod in matching shoes,* getting them fueled up is usually a them-or-me proposition, and no one is going to call Child Services if I don’t have a decent breakfast in the morning.**

Plus, fortune cookies are the only food(ish) item I usually have in my bag, since we eat at the Japanese Buffet so often they’re thinking of putting up a plaque near our usual table and my MIL never opens hers—which drives me not a little crazy for some reason I don’t care to explore—and I don’t see the point of just leaving behind a perfectly good prepackaged food(ish) item that could keep me from ingesting pencils and Post-it notes mid-Monday morning, since Diet Pepsi Breakfasts don’t work as well as they used to several birthdays ago and I had to stop with the Sugarless Gum Brunches because of jaw pain.

Of course, they do play hell with my sentence structures . . . But sometimes I get good advice.

So I cracked open this morning’s cookie and found this:

Good writing is clear thinking made visible.

Sheesh—even the fortune cookies are busting my chops now?  It must be Monday.

If I could think clearly, I would pack breakfast for myself when I do the kids’ lunches the night before.

Actually, if I could think clearly, I probably wouldn’t write at all, since writing is always how I’ve worked stuff out—lists, outlines, angst, rants . . . I have a deep-seated belief that if I get things down on paper, like a story problems, I’ll be able to find solutions.

This has worked pretty well for me, all things considered.  I’m hoping it works when the story problem itself is a 100,000-word story.  At the moment, I’m editing the parts where I’d become stuck on a character or McGuffin or plot point and wrote through it, hoping to find my way.

In general, I think I did—Pigeon Drop appears to be shaping up into a Real Novel (that noise you hear is me rapping on the side of my head for lack of a wooden table).  There’s work to do, but I believe it’s worth doing (knock, knock, knock).

And having written this post, I might even remember to eat a real breakfast tomorrow morning.  Or pack one tonight.

I hope so.  I’m all out of fortune cookies.

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*And unmatched socks, which is a fashion trend I can totally get behind, because I am of the opinion that a significant percentage of teenage pregnancies could be prevented by having one day-long workshop in which the participants do nothing but pair together basketfuls of various-sized kid socks.

**I could eat when I get up, but seriously, eating at 5am isn’t going to happen.  Ever.  And then I get to typing, and, well . . .