FATTY PIE

How to prevent writer’s block. What do you imagine right now?  I scratched my head.  Cows. 

 The editorial droned on about facing realities in life, negativity, finding new pathways.  All I could see in my mind’s eye were – cows.

I decided to take a walk through the castle – with a candlestick.  Just in case I ran into Mrs. Peacock or Professor Plum.  There had to be something electrifying in this place – and I need to find it — quick.

This got a little boring, so I put down the candlestick.  I still didn’t have a clue, or a cow.

I wrote the Mayor of Hamilton a quick note about the need for alternative energy –- in the form of horse and buggy – and illustrated my “green-energy” proposal noting the prospect of a government grant to expound on the venture.  Rosie and I had discussed it in the ring last week. 

I turned on Montserrat Caballé, The Ultimate Collection, and did not much care if the Opera loathers in my house liked it or not.  I had to get the cows out of my brain – they were blocking my creative juices.

Then I got to thinking — Maybe if I talked to the cows nicely, they would just moo-ve along.  I sat down on my big leather couch and considered the possibility.

Positioning myself comfortably, I leaned back soaking in La bohème/Act I/Mi chiamano Mimì and promptly fell asleep.

A cow walked in the front door, then sat on the foot of my couch.  The couch groaned.

 “Ok Bessie, let’s get this over with,” – I said rubbing my eyes.  “I can’t be caught talking to cows – especially the invisible kind – you understand, right?”  I prayed my couch would carry her load.

The long-horned hairy beast looked me in the eye.  “My name is NOT Bessie.”  I fluffed up my pillow, plopped my head back down, and moaned, “OK, then what IS your name?”  The cow answered briskly, “Fatty Pie.”  I covered my face with my hand. 

Do I REALLY have to answer this Cow by name???  Someone give me a shot of milk.

I hid my face in my pillow and slowly turned opening one eye – it was still there.  “Ok – eerrrr — Fatty Pie,” I said trying to remain composed, “what ARE you here to tell me.”

“Just one thing,” the cow said seriously.  “You have forgotten your invisible friends.  You no longer talk to ANY of us.  We are ALL very offended.  That is why you have lost the ability to write.”

I guess Fatty Pie now included herself as one of my “friends”.  I took a whiff of the air, and couldn’t help wondering if I would be stepping in a little gift from her later.   

Leaning back, I took a gander at the Cow on my couch.  I breathed in deeply and shut my eyes and thought about all my quirky invisible friends that rapidly became characters in my stories. 

Haystacks!  Fatty Pie was right! 

I jolted awake; Montserrat was still singing away and Fatty Pie had “POOF” vanished into thin air — without a cow-flop in sight.

My couch had survived, and I had one sweet storyline to spin.

Lesson learned – Talk to the cow!

Splashingly yours,

Muck Boot Diva