Write what you know

I have stories always flitting through my head. Sometimes it is a character who struggles to deal with their lot in life. Sometimes it is more in depth with many characters all trying to figure out what life is about and where they fit in the world. Although usually these stories peacefully cohabit my brain with my daily life, occasionally one distracts me from my tasks. It then makes my daily life seem either incredibly dull or completely out of control.

Today, there was no story floating in my brain. My brain resided in the fog of congestion and exhaustion. I could barely think. When I folded the clothes, my hands were moving out of habit at a normal speed, but my brain was watching from two shirts behind. When I climbed the steps, I was at the top, but my brain was still trying to persuade my feet to move. On top of this, little monsters were running around my house, at least they seemed like monsters to my congested brain. Sometimes they were good little monsters roaring their love for me. But most of the time they were crazy, mischievous little monsters leaving destruction and chaos in their wake.

In the middle of all this chaos and distraction, I curled up in my bed, hugged my phone, and texted my husband a plea for help. I couldn't think, but as I put life into words, the fog began to clear. I ranted, I questioned, I whined. Then there was silence.

Usually in silence, a story pops up. But this time, it was a quiet voice saying, "Write what you know." I had no energy to protest, nor energy to write. So I huddled under my pillow, neither listening, nor telling, just feeling immensely sorry for myself.

In this silence, a text buzzed. It was a sad face. How can I explain what happened next?

In that moment, I felt a hug. Not a physical squeeze or a mystical sensation, but the inner calm that you comes when you are given a good hug. Was it the weight of the blankets and the smell on the sheets? Could it be the feeling of being listened to, loved, and accepted? Maybe he kythed a hug to me. Whatever it was, I got a hug via text that was just as satisfying as a real one.

See, this is the problem with all my stories. They are mushy and unbelievable. Or bizarre and suspend disbelief too much. And stories are supposed to reflect real life, right? I can hear critics saying, "Kything/telepathy, really?" or "a sad face that felt like a hug?" "Stick to the facts, sweetie, write what you know."

Little do "they" know. 😀