by Cindy R. Williams
I am up late tonight with too much on my mind to sleep. As humans on this planet, we all wear many hats. Tonight I had to wear the hat of a leader in a writers group. It was a strange evening. I chose to bring a real hat, my very beautiful pheasant feathered, plum witches hat with black netting to cover my face. I was at the meeting to divide the group into two and hoped the hat might bring a little levity to the situation or at least block the tomatoes and boos that may come my way. It went very well with the general population and very poorly with a few. It might have been wise if I'd also taken my witches broom to fly out of there fast.
The division is done, and the witches hat is back on my bookcase where I can enjoy it. Strange, some might think, but then doesn't everyone collect beautiful things? You know, things like; decorative witches hats, dragons, fairies, fairy wings, fairy doors, castles, swords, knights in shining armor, banners, and leprachan catchers? How about tapestries and harps? If you are a collector of shiny, shimmery things, I can garentee these are a whole lot cheaper than collecting sparkly jewelry which I do love as well.
The older I get, the more excentric I become. And, dear family, you will not use this admission as any type of declaration regarding my sanity for the use of commiting me.
I realize it's time to take off my "Insane Writer's Hat", and put on my "Mom is done for the day hat," and float up to bed. Nice image, floating up to bed. It really will be more like carrying a glass of water in one hand, with a cloths basket on my hip, as I trudge up the stairs to tidy the wing of the house with the bedrooms, then read my scriptures, say my prayers and climb into my feather bed.
Wing of the house, and feather bed. Two more lofty images that make me feel blessed in my own home no matter how small the wing is or how many feathers escape the bed and need to be vacuumed up.
Tomorrow will be a wonderful day. I will finish some edits on my Thundertail dragon MS and print out the entire thing. My husband has edited the first half already and so has my very own nine year son who just happens to be the most incredible editor. He's found many typos and homonyms. Things in the story either work, and delight him, or they confuse him and don't work. I owe them both tons of hugs and kisses and many home made old fashioned oatmeal chocolate chip cookies from my families secret recipe handed down from my great grandmother. Everyone's favorites. Move over Debbie Fields.
Okay, I'm ending now for reals as my kids would say. The dryer just called, so it is time to trudge, I mean float upstairs.
May each of you find the right hat to wear at the right time in your life and may you find the right time to write the right words. I think I wrote that right, maybe not tight, but at least right.