Shining

I don't usually gripe about books, but some are over the top. For example, The Shining. A writer gets trapped in a house while it snows and snows and snows. The writer vigorously types red rum over and over, slips the frail bonds of sanity, and makes life, quite literally, impossible for just about everyone around him. Any writer worth her salt will tell you that winter snows envelop true wordsmiths in a coccoon of creativity. Words flow faster to the gentle drip of the faucet and the soft buzz of computer speakers. The hum of the refrigerator and the sniffs of family members gathered close spark inspiration. Cats rushing to the door every five minutes to check for sunshine provide powerbreaks. Dog toenails clicking up and down the hall mark passing minutes like word counts and editors define articles--too many words or not enough, inconsistent, rigid, not our style, not quite what we're looking for, not feeling it, haven't looked at it. But that's o.k. The soft snow restricts my donut breaks, my walks, my lunches out and my swim time. I'm fine with it. I am so much more creative when I'm snugged tight in my cozy home. The family sniffs. The dog clicks. A cat meows. That damn cheerful fabric softener smell permeates the walls. Or maybe the scent is shampoo. Or sour milk. Or fish food. It can't be fish food, we don't have a fish. If I could get to the store, we might have a fish. That would explain the lingering smell. And if I could get to the store to buy the fish, I could get to the donut shop. Maybe I will purchase a dolphin and a dozen glazed donuts. Or two dozen glazed and no dolphin. What if that scent isn't fish food? It could be elephant chow, but that smell isn't peanuts. But what else would an elephant eat? Would an elephant let the cats out, hand Birdie a tissue or convince Big Guy to cut back on bacon. Bacon. I haven't thought about bacon. Now I'm thinking about bacon. The editor didn't ask for a bacon article, but she needs one. That's what the elephant says. It is right here, but on my left. The elephant, not the bacon. I'll cry if she wanted an article on ham, not bacon. Maybe they'll pay me any way. Stunod. Stunod. Stunod. Stunod. Stunod.