My kids are upstairs having a fight, slamming doors and screaming things like, don't ever do that to me again and I didn't mean to. Followed by earsplitting screeches and more doors slamming. Those were the days. My sister, Becka, and I would have some doozies, pulling out fingernail weapons, making crescent imprints in the others' arm. Then the clawed would retaliate by peeling broken skin away and placing it on clothes, bare skin, hair, bed anywhere that seemed to garner the greatest disgust. I feel my blood pressure rising with the noise from up there, its a similar feeling to those childhood fights. I want to introduce the movie, War Games, and its lesson, good things can be learned from the futility of tic-tac-toe. But I suppose if I follow that logic, there are a lot of good things to be learned from a good sibling fight. If there is anything I learned from the rage full, spit raising, blood curdling angst of fights with my sis was the futility of the pay back.
How does this relate to writing?
As always(there is a fair amount of futility in writing and that juicy violence and strong feeling is good fodder),