
I surprised myself yesterday. There was no way I could write to the prompt of “slumber party games” by going through memory’s front door. The “slumber party memories” door is kept shut with a chair lodged under the knob.
So I had to find another way in. I looked for the farthest thing from my own reality, and came up with a mouse living in a (mostly) fictional woodpile.

Or at least I thought my character was far from my own reality. Instead, I found an very familiar introverted mouse living in my imagination. One who wishes for the things it seems like everyone else has, but who, in the end, is very happy with her own little life.
















