When I was quite young-about seven or eight, say-my mother would take me to church, or as I knew it, The Most Boring Two Hours That Anyone Has Ever Experienced Ever In The History Of The Universe With Extra Boring Sauce.
Needless to say, I was not a fan.
It’d be church for an hour and then Sunday school. Mostly what I gleaned from all this was that
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My fantasies are STILL about scenes. My biggest problem in writing is the need to have a plot of some sort of justify the existence of all the beautiful, intricately envisioned, emotionally intense scenes and the snippets of dialogue that I've been cheerfully dreaming up while in the shower or driving down the freeway. And plots are hard.
Maybe I should write for children:p
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I think that's part of why I missed the connection between Palm Sunday & Ash Wednesday.
So until I was like... 12? I thought the ashes for Ash Wednesday came from cremating people's hands. Is this gruesome? Sure. When you think about how Catholics believe in transubstantiation? Probably not that much of a leap actually.
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(Or perhaps more likely when I was eleven and our church was also my elementary school, so any rhinoceros damage would do double duty.)
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