Rentry

Last night, Josh walk in from the kitchen with a piece of paper.

You got another check. For your blog.
 Mmmm? Oh. Yeah.
You're still making money? You're not even writing.
Mmm.
The check's still made out to our street. Maybe our whole street can take it to the bank and cash it.
Mmm. Yeah. I should really change that.
You should really write again.
Yeah.
No. You really should write again.


I know. I want to. But I can't even figure out what's going on for myself. How will I tell about it? And I'm afraid it will all up sounding the same. Like the same whiny baby. I'm afraid of being boring.

Maybe that's ok. "Same" is ok. Haven't you noticed for weeks we've been watching a bunch of guys pretend to be bikers, and they keep doing the same stupid crap every episode? And we're entertained! And now we're going to watch some zombies. I'm going to guess there will be some faces falling off. And a lot of growling and oozing. And maybe some sexual tension. So you should write.



And really, he had a point. Because if you have the kind of family where your husband can pull off supporting and encouraging you by comparing your work to that of zombies, then really, you should write.