This is a test of the emergency free-write system. This is only a test. We test this process now and then to see if it's still working, to see if writing everything...no, transcribing...what comes into the brain works to stimulate writing. In this case, I hope to stimulate some short fiction for an anthology my brother and I are working on. It will be an interesting brother-sister kind of thing filled with magical realism and science fiction, or pseudo-science-fiction if that's what you want to call it. I guess it's more magical realism. Gabriel Garcia Marquez is one of my favorite authors, though his writing is dense and I have to read each story several times to "get" them. I love when he has things like magical ships disappear, banana companies get swept away by leaves and girls in brothels. No wait, I don't like the parts where he has girls in brothels. It's sex abuse. There's a lot of sex abuse in his stories but it's magical REALISM of course. Then there's the mold that takes over the big house. I have a poem about mold because I used to live in an old house where the mold was in the walls. I constantly had sinus problems. I was pregnant. We also had iguanas and their water made me want to puke. Every time I passed by their cage I would see their water filled with feces and I'd want to throw up and not have to empty it because then I would want to puke even more because I had to get closer to it. I'm only editing typing as I go here because if I didn't, you'd never be able to read this and I do want someone to read it, though why I don't know, it's such dribble, stream of conscious dribble with bad punctuation. Who was that author? James Joyce and "Ulysis" all stream of consciousness. I can't spell Ulysis correctly and I won't correct it because it's a free-write and there is little editing except like I said, typing but that is just practical. I wish I could type as fast as my mind moves, but I don't think many people can. Besides, the faster you type, the faster your mind moves, like your brain wants to challenge your fingers or something. Dive doesn't hardly blog anymore (that was really bad English) and I imagine him reading this post especially because I am reminded of him because I did a word of the day today and I read my 500 words flash fiction last night to see if any of it was worth working on for the book. Some of it was really funny and Michael helped me work on it. I am lucky that Carlos is going to send a check to Rainbow Center for a donation. He's a great guy and I'm so lucky to have worked with him. He's amazing. I am inspired by him. No I am not making this up, I am being sincere. I had to take a break and I keep wondering when I should stop typing because I didn't start timing this and usually you go for five minutes at a time or whatever. I've had to skip some thoughts because I couldn't keep up with the typing. I make a lot of mistakes. My fingers don't work, they are chubby especially because I chopped off my nails yesterday. It's easier to type this way, but they look ugly. Maybe if I polish them and I will polish my fungus toe, too. All my toenails. Maybe my feet will look better but I have a gazillion chigger bites from walking around on the farm and maybe from the county fair where I sat in the grass actually on a chair in the grass but chiggers climb your legs and get onto your stomach which is what they did. I even have some on my arms. I just heard the toilet flush so someone is up. We have to go buy school supplies today. There's no list on the website for high schoolers so I will guess and get more after their first day of school when they get a list from their teachers. My girls are so pretty. I don't know where they get that from. Yes I do. I'm pretty and so is their father, but he's not pretty per se. I don't think he would like to be called pretty but why not? He has a baby face. He looks younger than I do except for his gray beard. I have to skip things about him for privacy sake. Onto something else like how I am always checking my email and get impatient when people don't answer right away except I have to remember not everyone checks their email compulsively like I do. I keep waiting for a 1 to pop up at the top of the screen telling me I have a new email. I hope it's work because I need someone's phone number. This is so not fiction but it's a start and I don't have any more ideas for fiction but at least I am getting my name on paper, no my ideas on the screen. I won't save this as a document like I do with my essays and poetry and fiction. It's not worth it. I wonder if Blogger will lose all my stuff eventually? I hope not because I have been blogging since 2006 and it's not 2013. That's a lot of archives. How am I going to end this entry...Dive...there was a random thought, sometimes I think in solo words I forget what that is called. Damn typos. Why don't I type better, more accurate? My finger tips hurt a little because I cut my nails so short and my fingers are hitting the keyboard. Maybe if I look at the keyboard I will type faster and more accurately. No, not really. Besides, you are not supposed to look at the keyboard. Do you know I don't type correctly? I have a place where my fingers feel comfortable and I never got down the way you are supposed to hold your fingers or place them on the keyboard. I don't play piano. I play the keyboard.