“So and so might read this and what would they think of me then? Better use softer words with shallow meaning — leave things to imagination and higher thinkers or start writing as a ghost.”
Anything to keep from mopping floors or doing dishes. Voices interfering there as well, “Boy she keeps a messy house.”
“Poop to that” the voice then said.
“Where are you girl, where are you?” He liked the way her hands looked and he wanted them on his tall and furry body. He wanted to make love to her mind with her body as a proxy. “Yum” he’d said. “Mm, mm, mm!”
So, he showed up at her house uninvited, except for a subliminal invitation. He was sure that if he had called from nearby, she likely wouldn’t have come.
“I’m reluctant to say that I would have” she said, “but since you’re here, let’s get my hands on that body.” What was the point of holding back and who would they be kidding.
Vampire Diaries. She’d never read a single one but wondered how someone could think it all up — or Fifty Shades of Grey, and put it in writing for others to read. Stephen King a one to worry about — whatever kind of mind is that.
Is it things that have happened or wishful thinking that make up the story line? Either way, a writer writes what they know whether it is a construct of real knowing or imaginary thinking. It is still who they are and therein is the struggle for what to show. The fun part is, though, that whatever was real, or as real as it seemed, that reality can be stretched or strangled, mangled and mixed to make it whatever one wants.
And after the outer furry body experience, she said to herself, “Time to mop the floors.”