I Write Stories About Spilled Milk

 I found the winner for this week, but the contest is far from over! There's about seven months left, so  keep those blog submissions coming! I've gotten some amazing links.The interview will be up this Friday. Who won? That is for my minions to know and for me to find out. Don't know what I'm talking about? Click here.

Yesterday, I realized that I have serious issues. This may not be news to you, but I discovered yet another thing about myself as a person and a writer that scares me...

To me, everything is a potential short story or novel. Not joking. Sunday at church, someone sat on my purse. Normal people would think, "Hey, get off my purse." or "Don't crush my granola bar, you fool." Not me. My first thought was about writing a short story about a slightly overweight older man, with bad arthritis in his knees who happens to sit on a woman's (who is also old) purse... The story follows their epic journey of freeing the old woman's purse from...his backside's...oppression and then they fall in love.


A couple of weeks ago I was at Costco and a woman was arrested for stealing...something. I don't know what it was, but I really, really, hope it was a giant package of rubber chickens. I don't really want to go into the storyline that came to mind with that particular experience...I don't want to corrupt your innocent and relatively sane minds. It involved robotic aliens and the bending of wills...I'll leave it at that.

I worry about what this means for my already-unraveling sanity. Even when something bad happens, that thought is not too far from the front of my mind. Is life just a gigantic novel waiting to be written? YES...I mean...no...um...

Does this mean I have no real perception of reality?

Possibly, but enough self-psychoanalysis. Here are 7 things about me, as promised:

1.  I am a Christian who is crazy in love with her Savior. 
2.  I LOVE SOCKS. SO MUCH. Knee highs, fuzzy socks, Santa socks etc. It's not so much that I like to the wear them. I've never really liked wearing  socks or shoes, but I like the idea of wearing them. Because I like the idea so much, I end up wearing them all the time...Wait. I don't think that made any sense. 
3. I am the ruler of all cheese. I rule it, but I don't eat it. 
4.  I rewrote my first novel approximately six times. I am in the process of finishing my current novel (which I hate), so I can start my new, COOL novel. Which is about...something.
5.  I'm going to change the world. Not joking. 
6. I am in the process of creating my own language. Not just gibberish. It's going to have grammar and modifiers and so on. I will blog about this soon! 
7.  I will now use this 7th item to explain the name of my blog. Yay! When I was little, my dad used to call me a "social butterfly." I was friends with everyone and I loved to talk and to meet new people. As I got older though, this kind of started to change. Instead of breaking out of my shell, I turned into a self-proclaimed hermit; a recluse, by choice, if you will. It's not that I don't like people. I love people as much as I did when I was a (smaller) kid. I'm just not as social as I used to. Also, something deep and profound about not wanting to grow up.