Then I chose writing as a career and my definition of normal changed.
In the process of cleaning our chimney, I was standing on the wood stove and had my arm up the vent. And I was stuck. I mean, my sleeve was caught on the bricks and I was dancing with the stove pipe.
First thought? Wow, this would be a great scene for a book.
The hubby smashed the ever loving sh** out of his finger using what we’ve nicknamed BFH--Big Fu**ing Hammer.
While driving to the ER, I ignored my beloved's moans and wondered how I could portray this in a WIP.
Question: How widespread is this malady? Are others ignoring peril (got my arm out with a few scratches and much cursing) and whimpering spouses (10K hospital bill) to formulate their next book?
I need examples please so I don't feel so alone.