365 days of being a writer: day 151

Last night, after I said I was going to bed, I stayed up and worked on a prompt for a while. The two pieces I came up with weren't much, but the act of brainstorming was too fun to quit.

I only got a couple of hours of sleep as a result, so this is going to be it for writing. I did read quite a bit more of turquoise and I will be writing up my book review tomorrow.

Thinking about this today: It isn't so hard to live far away from your family when you aren't anything like them. It's harder to live close, in that case. I've been thinking about the reasons I feel like (and behave as) the outsider. They feel like I have rejected them, because I don't want to eat the foods they do. I feel cut out because they forget to invite me to family dinners. They think I would sacrifice them for a writing career. I know they would sacrifice me for a nice family portrait. How many times have I said that I want to get out of here? I've been daydreaming about trading my lousy cat in for a rescue dog. A dog can be a better companion than a cat, but only if you enjoy doing the kinds of things that dogs love to do.

Here are the rejected stories from last night's Tweet Me a Story competition. My required word was "appetite."

• She worked hard on the boy's cake, yet her appetite betrayed her: she swiped a finger across the side, let the chocolate melt on her tongue.
• "This will soothe her unruly feminine appetite," the doctor proudly orated as he clamped first one electrode and then the other to the girl.
• Young Love: He will always remember the B side of "Appetite for Destruction" and her blue eyes; she has already forgotten his last name.
• She told herself it was the baby's appetite as she reached for seconds. Yet she hoped the onions on her breath would keep her husband away.

I posted a poem to Fictionaut, and I am worried that it is terrible. I never know with poems--like I am colorblind to bad verse.