When I was a freshman in college, I decided to give writing true confessions stories a try. If memory serves me, I wrote, "My Teen Dream Turned Into A Nightmare," and (the fabulously prescient), "I Was My Mayor's Mistress."
It is possible I didn't write either of them, but just came up with the titles.
What I do remember doing is buying a whole batch of confessions magazines and reading them for research. One story stuck with me for decades. There was a girl who wanted to be a go go dancer (and who amongst us didn't dream that dream). Her straight arrow boyfriend didn't approve of this career path one bit, and to convince her of the mistake she was about to make, said, "There's more to life than the hully gully."
A few days ago, I said that to myself (as I do several times a year, but only on appropriate occasions), and I realized the anonymous author of that story probably doesn't even remember the line. Heaven knows, I've written lots of lines I don't remember, although none as good as that.
Working through to the best possible ending for This World We Live In seems to be my hully gully right now. Instead, I subbed for Marci at my previous volunteer job, did lunch and a movie with my friend Geri (we saw and loved Confessions Of A Shopaholic), got my hair cut so I'll be presentable at my cousin Danny's wedding, and pondered at enormous and unsatisfying length, whether I should get white or black or multicolored storage boxes to hide manuscripts and old Mad magazines. All this and American Idol too would keep anybody from work.
What thought I have given to B3 Ending 3, I blogged about over at thirdmoonbook. So if you're interested in what my five remaining brain cells have been up to, make your merry way over there. If you aren't, but you have a strong opinion about storage box colors, let me know about that instead.
Either way, feel free to do the hully gully!