Bus Ticket Home

I just wrote 348 words on my Blindman book. This scene/chapter involved how I got a bus ticket home when I didn’t have the money to pay for one. Don’t let your mind wander . . . it wasn’t all that exciting. I simply filled out a form, but all the repercussions from filling out that form goes with the book.

This scene/chapter wrote itself as I walked my old dog a few minutes ago. She was in a particularly exploring mood and as she stopped to sniff at everything along my walk, something about the day reminded me of the time I needed a bus ticket home and didn’t have the money to pay for it. It’s a long story. It’s going to be a book, actually, and this scene is a small, very small part of that book, but it does need to be included.

So as my dog wandered and stopped and sniffed, my mind went back to that day and all the details.

As soon as we came in the house, I sat down and typed it up. It only came to 348 words and there will be descriptions and details that were omitted added later. That’s the editing phase. Right now I’m just trying to get the book written.

I’m writing like a grasshopper jumps around. I’ve got the beginning, the end and the middle and all the parts in between those parts are now being written. Some of the things might not be included, but the words I just wrote, in one form or another, will.

I am always proud and happy when I write at least 250 words on my Blindman book daily. I haven’t been writing on it during the last week because the pulmonary doctor I saw tried to kill me. Or that’s how it felt. I’m feeling better now and hopefully can return to working on my book daily.

I have four or five books I’m working on, but the Blindman is my main priority. I worked on a book about teaching school yesterday. It’s going to be short stories or short chapters. I can’t always work on the same manuscript without taking a break from time to time. I take breaks by working on other projects or writing poetry.

My poems tell little stories. I have a friend who says I’m a good story teller. I don’t know if that is true or not, but I appreciate his compliment. Sometimes my stories come in the form of a poem. When they do, I jot them down. I like rhyme and rhythm and while I sometimes read un-rhymed poetry, it is not my favorite.

This morning while fixing the dog’s breakfast, I was singing “It’s Howdy Doody Time”. My son came in and said I was really old. I guess the song dated me? At any rate, it may be my preference for rhyming poetry dates me? I don’t know.

The Bus Ticket Home isn’t a poem. It’s a scene/chapter in a book I’m writing about a Blindman. I hope when it’s finished and published, you will read it.

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