Authors, apparently, must also be Bloggers.  As part of my mission to re-vamp lrburt.com, I’m incorporating several regular features, including Fiction Fridays, which are dedicated to posts about writing or excerpts of my fiction projects.

Since my readers are probably more interested in what I write than in how I write it, I’ll kick off Fiction Fridays with a short story I wrote a few years ago.  Actually, it’s not terribly short, so I’ll break it into two parts to post this week and next.  It’s a humor piece, and a love story, and it stars a roll of toilet paper.  Something for everyone.

Her Dying Wish

by LR Burt

If you asked her what she wanted to do before she died, she would tell you things unsurprising and unremarkable: to travel to Europe, to write a novel, to go skydiving, maybe, if she was feeling adventurous.

If she told you this, you would believe her; after all, everybody, yourself included, wants to travel to Europe, write a novel, and skydive before they die.

Like everyone who claims these dying wishes, she never put spare change in a jar to save for that European vacation; she never sat down to write the first line of the novel that came to her as a lightning bolt of inspiration; she definitely never felt adventurous enough to sign up for a skydiving course.

No, what she dreamed of, in her secret heart, was to knock glass jars off supermarket shelves; to say swear words in places and in front of people she shouldn’t; to write a scathing letter to a person of great importance.

In short, what she wanted to do before she died was to become a menace to society.

Of course, if you asked her, she would never tell you that, because as far as she knew, she really and truly believed she was exactly like everybody else–and nobody else wanted to become a menace to society before they died. At least, no one told her otherwise. If anyone had, she might have recognized her real dreams sooner, without resistance or thinking she was going mad, and by pleasanter means than the threat of her imminent death.

Although, if she had recognized her real dreams under less urgent circumstances, she would not have realized that she’d never really lived at all, or felt so acutely what it meant to come to life. Read the rest of this entry »

The Burt Squirt isn’t great at naps.

That’s not a complaint!  He’s great at sleeping.  At night.  Typically from around 10:30 till 8ish the next morning.  Without waking up for a feeding.

(He first did this on Mother’s Day — best present ever! — when he was just a little over two months old, and has kept it up ever since.  But I really shouldn’t brag, lest A) I incur hatred from other parents and B) jinx myself.)

So, to reiterate:  the Burt Squirt isn’t great at naps, but I’m not complaining because I get a lot more sleep every night than a lot of people who don’t have kids.

It’s not that he doesn’t nap at all; it’s just that he doesn’t nap for several long stretches a day, like all the baby books say babies his age should do.

(Though how is he supposed to do what baby books say?  He can’t read.  He can only learn by example.

His example, apparently, is our cat.)

Again, I’m not complaining!

Much.

Okay…I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think life would be perfect if I had a little more time for housekeeping.  On the plus side, I’m learning the art of efficiency.

However, as good as I’m getting at cramming a lot into a very little span of time, I find myself doing anything possible to make those naptimes, when they do happen, last as long as possible.

Today, that meant using my food processor in the upstairs guest bathroom.

(Next naptime will see me cleaning said bathroom so my in-laws won’t have to perform their daily ablutions amidst the remnants of minced garlic and onion.)

Such great lengths to maintain a quiet napping environment, and the Burt Squirt still woke up before I could finish slicing and dicing.

Thank goodness for friends who come over to entertain wide-awake babies so Mommies can put together from-scratch lasagnas.