I'm the Mad Hatter

The last time I posted for March I told you I was madly busy. Update: daughter-in-law had a beautiful baby girl and nearly died in the process. All is well now. We're past the first scary two weeks for her. But I've been the care giver through this whole business so my son can keep working to pay for the next eighteen years of fatherhood. Smiling here.

And I forgot to write my blog. Here I am now pounding the keys, nonsensically, posting about four hours late. Sorry readers. So I feel like the Mad Hatter even though I know nothing about making hats. Mostly, he was looney from too many chemicals in the process. I'm looney from too little sleep, too little writing time and too little exercise. But I do have my first grandchild so what more can I say?

With my daughter-in-law now able to do most things for herself, my life should even out and I can write again. How about I leave you with the first few paragraphs of my current novel in progress? Maybe I'll get inspired to get back at it whenever I can.

Phoebe awakened sudden and breathless. Not slow like when the sheet tangled around her legs or when she needed a trip to the toilet in the gray fog of near-sleep. What noise had she heard that now wasn’t there? Her bird, Perry, rustled in his cage. She held her breath and listened, her heart hammering her ribcage. Her budgie rustled again.

Her covers slid away as she swung her legs to sit and slipped her feet into the fuzzy flip-flop house shoes. Damn. Two nights in a row.

Hesitating, her toes clinching and stretching, clinching and stretching against the terry cloth, she closed her eyes to listen again. The pulse in her ears rang. She swallowed and concentrated harder.

 

Visit Brenda at www.brendawhiteside.com.

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She blogs on the 9^th and 24^th of every month at http://rosesofprose.blogspot.com

She blogs about prairie life and writing at http://brendawhiteside.blogspot.com/