Footloose.
(Yes, this is another one of those posts that strangely ends up being about writing.)
I picked Middle Bro up from work yesterday, so we could go by Baby Bro's grave, run errands, eat supper out, and have a little fun. We had to drive past our electricity provider, and Middle Bro wanted to stop so he could pay the bill right then. There was a line inside, so we ended up going through the drive-thru. Of course, the paneled van in front of us was having a problem with the service rep.
So there we sat. But before we could get all riled up... One of the funkiest jams EVER came on the radio. (Not Just) Knee Deep. Holy mooooly. Hadn't heard that in years (except sampled in the backgrounds of today's music). One of our Old Favorites of All Time. I had to turn it up, I mean UP, and before I knew it the spell of Parliament Funkadelic and George Clinton had come over us both. The monkey got funky, y'all.
It started out with us clapping and gyrating in the car, then moved out onto the pavement. It had to be like a scene from Breakin'2: Electric Boogaloo for the other folks there to pay their bills. Bro and I stayed on our respective sides of the car, but dueled it out with the Freak, the Chicken, the Moose, and the Jerk. The combat got real serious when he pulled Michael Jackson out of his pocket on me, but I fired back with the Robot and some belly-dancing moves (don't ask--I don't know how those two connect at all). Not a moment too soon, the song ended, the paneled van moved, we jumped back in the car and drove forward to the service rep. There was some clapping and laughing going on in the cars behind us. The service rep--poor guy--just shook his head.
As we drove on down the street, the sky looked bluer, the clouds looked fluffier, the day looked much brighter... and something inside my Right Brain broke loose. A problem I'd been having with the reptilian anti-hero/anti-villain in my Sci-Fi novella dissolved as just what I needed to do with him came to me clear as day (NO, he won't be dancing to Parliament Funkadelic while paying his galactic power bill, too many people to see, females to impregnate, and bounty hunters to slay :-).
Sometimes to get over a writing hump, or any kind of hump, you just need to really really truly relax and LET YOURSELF GO. Rose-colored glasses can serve their purpose.
(Baby Bro was somewhere with the essence of God, in the Cosmos, laughing his butt off, I'm sure. And doing the only dances he ever mastered--the White Boy, and the Land of a Thousand Smurfs. Heh.)
I picked Middle Bro up from work yesterday, so we could go by Baby Bro's grave, run errands, eat supper out, and have a little fun. We had to drive past our electricity provider, and Middle Bro wanted to stop so he could pay the bill right then. There was a line inside, so we ended up going through the drive-thru. Of course, the paneled van in front of us was having a problem with the service rep.
So there we sat. But before we could get all riled up... One of the funkiest jams EVER came on the radio. (Not Just) Knee Deep. Holy mooooly. Hadn't heard that in years (except sampled in the backgrounds of today's music). One of our Old Favorites of All Time. I had to turn it up, I mean UP, and before I knew it the spell of Parliament Funkadelic and George Clinton had come over us both. The monkey got funky, y'all.
It started out with us clapping and gyrating in the car, then moved out onto the pavement. It had to be like a scene from Breakin'2: Electric Boogaloo for the other folks there to pay their bills. Bro and I stayed on our respective sides of the car, but dueled it out with the Freak, the Chicken, the Moose, and the Jerk. The combat got real serious when he pulled Michael Jackson out of his pocket on me, but I fired back with the Robot and some belly-dancing moves (don't ask--I don't know how those two connect at all). Not a moment too soon, the song ended, the paneled van moved, we jumped back in the car and drove forward to the service rep. There was some clapping and laughing going on in the cars behind us. The service rep--poor guy--just shook his head.
As we drove on down the street, the sky looked bluer, the clouds looked fluffier, the day looked much brighter... and something inside my Right Brain broke loose. A problem I'd been having with the reptilian anti-hero/anti-villain in my Sci-Fi novella dissolved as just what I needed to do with him came to me clear as day (NO, he won't be dancing to Parliament Funkadelic while paying his galactic power bill, too many people to see, females to impregnate, and bounty hunters to slay :-).
Sometimes to get over a writing hump, or any kind of hump, you just need to really really truly relax and LET YOURSELF GO. Rose-colored glasses can serve their purpose.
(Baby Bro was somewhere with the essence of God, in the Cosmos, laughing his butt off, I'm sure. And doing the only dances he ever mastered--the White Boy, and the Land of a Thousand Smurfs. Heh.)