Most times when I start a story, I have no idea what it will be about. It just takes shape on its own—which can be a scary thing especially when you’re asked what you’re writing at the moment. It’s hard to look someone in the eye, shrug your shoulders and say, “You got me!” or, “Sheesh, how should I know?”
Recently, I tried to work with sort of an outline and even though it was a real jello-y type of an outline, it stopped me dead in my tracks. I rubbed my forehead so much, the smoke detectors went off. Okay, not really, but they were thinking about it.
I guess I’m just a go-with-the-flow kind of person all around. I don’t know what I’m cooking for the week until I’m walking down the grocery store aisles. That explains why I’m always talking to myself while I’m there. But hey, at least I don’t leave my cart in the middle of the aisle while I go roaming around. That's got to count for something, right? And then there's having to get dressed up for a party or a fancy dinner. Don't know what I'm wearing until the very last minute. Works for me but, for my husband? Notttt so much.