A Novel Idea

Chapter One

It's fun to think of names. What do you name a girl who always leaves her bags unzipped and spilled? Who holds you up in grocery lines because her paint splattered pockets are stuffed with crumpled dollar bills? A 57 year old woman who talks aloud to her make believe friend named Otis who resides in her brain? A girl who’s half mad?
That's why I like to write. It explains life to me.

But the name thing. Like a mother birthing characters in a dream. I was meant to be a mother because sometimes the best roll model is a mistake. I caved. Big time. Free fall started when I found out my marriage wasn't gonna work.

Otis, the guy that lives with me in my head, is like a gay boyfriend who will tell you your butt looks too big. Guess some would call me schizophrenic, but it sure beats dining alone.

I was a good mother. You know, this guys a great carpenter and this girl’s a bridge builder. Otis says I was a better mom than wife. Shit, he’s always right. I’m the kind of mom who made her toddler walk in front of her brother’s swing to teach her not to get hit. Softly. I was so intent on swinging her around the centrifugal force thingy that she couldn’t hold on. Seven stitches on her sweet baby lips.

So, I want to write this book, see? I go to Border’s and mosey around the reference shelves. Gad, I love those professorial types.
I told my girls that there was this giant magnet attached to me that could smash through a bookstore’s window. I’d plop them down in the kid’s section and spend days there. I find a book that says to write on index cards. I go to CVS and buy the colored ones. Not being a number person, the sheer spread across my carpet overwhelmed me. They’ve been in a half-written box ever since. Along with the book. Found out miles and pain is the only way my story.