These human clock zombies are taunting me. They know the countdown has begun. Why do they torture me so? Twelve picture books in twelve months. While I am sure ideas will come to me at some point, it is always a little worrisome to not have any up my sleeve at any given time. I used to wonder if each idea I had for a story was just a fluke, something never to occur again. But I have come to trust that an idea will in fact come and of course, at most opportune of times, such as:
while I am mid-drool, at three in the morning,
while I am liberating the vacuum attachment of a matted clump of cat fur balls,
while I am slopping up applesauce flung from my "terrific" toddler's spoon
But for now, I will just sit here, living it up, drooling, liberating and slopping, waiting for those ideas to flood my head.
(P.S. Human clock zombies, have some compassion, would ya?)