Last night I feasted at the home of two of my dearest friends. There were 12 of us plus children. I told my friends about this blog, mentioning that I focus on my life as a writer. I said, for example, that I wouldn’t write about our Thanksgiving dinner because we didn’t talk writing or literature or etcetera. Only, here I am doing just that because a disturbing phrase just popped into in my head:
This said at the dinner table while eating turkey and yams (or sweet potatoes? What’s the difference anyhow?) and all good things. Context is everything, believe me. We are mostly sound of mind even if we often stray from the polite topics. I mention the phrase in my blog because my writer-self tagged it. Out of context, it’s unsettling, or funny, or simply yucky — and because of this, potential fodder for a story.
In truth, the phrase made me a little uncomfortable. Just a tad, mind you, because mostly it’s too funny in a yucky way. It reminded me that discomfort is a good thing for writers. We play it too safe with our stories, we fall flat.
That said, I doubt this phrase will make it into my fiction. So I pass it along. I’m thinking a pornographic spy thriller spoof.