I'm sitting here trying to decide whether or not to break someone's arm.
It's a fictional someone. I can do that--break this child's arm--or not, however I like.
Heck, even just sitting here, it occurred to me that I could break someone else's arm, too.
Recently someone asked me, in a joking, happy-go-lucky offhand way, what was the weirdest thing I'd researched lately.
I said, "Why people no longer commit suicide by putting their heads into ovens."
That sort of killed the joie de vivre.
It was true, and also the answer is interesting, but I think that when they hear I write children's books, many people assume I write bunny books. Or sweet bedtime stories about fairies.
Nope. Sorry. It's all real over here. Excuse me now, I'm off to break someone's arm.
Or not. Still can't decide.
It's a fictional someone. I can do that--break this child's arm--or not, however I like.
Heck, even just sitting here, it occurred to me that I could break someone else's arm, too.
Recently someone asked me, in a joking, happy-go-lucky offhand way, what was the weirdest thing I'd researched lately.
I said, "Why people no longer commit suicide by putting their heads into ovens."
That sort of killed the joie de vivre.
It was true, and also the answer is interesting, but I think that when they hear I write children's books, many people assume I write bunny books. Or sweet bedtime stories about fairies.
Nope. Sorry. It's all real over here. Excuse me now, I'm off to break someone's arm.
Or not. Still can't decide.
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