Great Ideas to Cure Writer's Block

We lived in a trailer in Pine Shade Trailer Park in South Carolina. Mother used to sit on the bed and cut out pictures in magazines and arrange them on the bed. She would take a photo of a Mother and I took a picture of a child and we became those photos. We play acted for hours until Daddy came home from the bomb plant where he worked making atomic bombs. We were out in the boonies, where everyone had to have security clearance just to shop in the local grocery store.

We weren't as isolated as you might think. Every nations and organization had their representative spies. No joke, I was surrounded by nearly as much education and culture in the sand and pine trees of rural South Carolina than you can find around the Metropolitan in New York. Everyone wanted to send their most intelligent and experienced spies to keep an eye on the facility where they were moving around those radioactive hot rods. My father once bragged he got a massive dose of radiation from handling uranium rods, but he was in his senility and I think he probably made up the story in his sleep from worry from working with the dangerous stuff.

When he did work at the bomb plant, he never told anybody anything. He studdered and could barely get a sentence out unless it was set to music. He had a gorgeous baritone voice that made out car outings operatic masterpieces when he would sing, "On the Road to Mandalay" at the top of his voice.

Maybe he sang to shut mother up. My, how that woman could talk! If anybody was looking for state secrets, they just hung around mother and eventually, she would spill the beans. She knew everyone in town, and she knew the dirt on everyone too and loved to tell it. And we did have some interesting characters hanging around our house too, and they got an ear full too from Mom.