When a young author suggested our writers group hold a brainstorm session, I liked the idea. I’m old enough to be her grandmother and the idea of having a group of youngsters around sounded like a much needed evening to revive my tired mind.
I set the date for our brainstorm session. Then one by one the youngsters of Kat’s Kritters (critique group) emailed. They were committed to other activities.
Disappointment set in when I realized I’d have to think hard to inspire myself and the two ladies I expected to come—both of them older than me.
I moaned to husband, “Hon, I used to think creatively. Now I’m old. I see the same people, sit in the same pew, eat with the same co-workers. My world is too small to think in a ‘stormy brain.’ Husband laughed at me, but offered no solution.
At 6 p.m. on the night of the B-storm, I put my fingers on my keyboard and said, “Lord, I’m dry and boring.” Then ideas poured from my mind. In less than thirty minutes, I’d created enough material to stir the old fires in the tired minds.
The clock struck 7. No one showed. I quick jotted more mind-boggling-ideas and the old embers began to flame.
At 7:30, a woman who attended our writers group only once arrived. We didn’t bother with my fire starters, we shared and energized each other. The evening felt like a God planned event.
I learned I’m not dead yet, just thought I might be dying.
Signing out, one fired up Kat
I set the date for our brainstorm session. Then one by one the youngsters of Kat’s Kritters (critique group) emailed. They were committed to other activities.
Disappointment set in when I realized I’d have to think hard to inspire myself and the two ladies I expected to come—both of them older than me.
I moaned to husband, “Hon, I used to think creatively. Now I’m old. I see the same people, sit in the same pew, eat with the same co-workers. My world is too small to think in a ‘stormy brain.’ Husband laughed at me, but offered no solution.
At 6 p.m. on the night of the B-storm, I put my fingers on my keyboard and said, “Lord, I’m dry and boring.” Then ideas poured from my mind. In less than thirty minutes, I’d created enough material to stir the old fires in the tired minds.
The clock struck 7. No one showed. I quick jotted more mind-boggling-ideas and the old embers began to flame.
At 7:30, a woman who attended our writers group only once arrived. We didn’t bother with my fire starters, we shared and energized each other. The evening felt like a God planned event.
I learned I’m not dead yet, just thought I might be dying.
Signing out, one fired up Kat
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