That's the name of my group blog made up of some amazing Southern writers. Yesterday was my turn to post. We are given assigned topics, totally voluntary. This time it was "living with a lunatic."
When I told my husband what I was writing about, and that I was certainly not a lunatic writer, there was silence from the other side of the car. Sometimes that means he didn't hear what I was saying. This time he totally heard. "Well, sometimes..." he started to answer.
You mean those days I locked myself in my room and glared if he dared disturb me? Hauled all my stuff to the quiet of the library? Read aloud to my computer? Scribbled crazy sayings on the back of our checkbook? What, me a crazy writer?
In my post I did not admit to true craziness. Click here if you'd like to see what I confess to.
And thanks, Julie, for the Luna inspiration. Not to mention for understanding creative craziness. Maybe it takes one to understand one?
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