This morning, I awoke from a dream where I a saw giant, ant-eating crickets in the sandy play lot next to the fire station down the street. They couldn't jump very high. I pass the park whenever I take my morning walk over to the little creek at the lower edge of Richmond Heights. Big bugs remind me of shrimp and crab, which in in turn remind me of gumbo.
I think "gumbo" has been my favorite word since I first had it at my Aunt Georgia's on a New Year's Eve many years ago. During actual my morning walk, after passing the park and not seeing any giant bugs, my brain decided to start churning out sci-fi and fantasy titles that include the word gumbo:
The Gumbo War
The Gumbo Six
The Gumbo Initiative
The Gumbo League
Return to Gumbo
Fun stuff, right? I'm not a writer, but it's still fun to play with these kinds of weird juxtapositions just to see where they take my imagination. There's magic in big chrome pots of brown, gooey ooze with parts of dead animals sticking out.