Lost Time

Yesterday I was driving home from Trader Joe’s, my mind deep in my novel. I am SO close to finishing it I can see the end and I was excited about what I was seeing. Then a street sign yanked me from my thoughts: I was crossing Roscoe, but Roscoe didn’t look like Roscoe. My breath came a little fast. Why is the world weird? I wondered, passing the street I usually take to cut over to my house, but because that street didn’t look like itself either, I refused to turn. My worry accelerated to panic. I’m a mother! I thought. I don’t have time for a brain tumor! Luckily, the main thoroughfare appeared. I turned down it and my little pocket of suburbia promptly normalized. Figuring it out only took a few seconds: I’d simply turned down the street prior to the street I normally turn down, but my brain, rummaging through my novel, obsessing on certain ends, sent no confirmation of this move. If I hadn’t seen the Roscoe sign, perhaps I’d still be driving.

Regardless–I’ve got my ending.

Yours in dire conclusions,




About PB Rippey

Writer, wife, mother, grateful. Fiction, memoir, poetry, kidlit (MG), member SCBWI. pbwrites.wordpress.com
This entry was posted in books, Faction, middle grade, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Lost Time

  1. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been on a familiar road and suddenly wasn’t sure where I was. And I didn’t have the excuse of having made a wrong turn. 🙂 Thanks for the encouragement! And congratulations on having an ending!

Words do not escape you

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