So I Says To Myself. . .

I found myself writing upstairs yesterday.  "Are you sure you want to do that?" I said.

Myself didn't look up from the monitor.  "Mmmmm?"

"Write that novel.."

Myself nodded, still not looking up.  "Mmmhmm."

I dropped onto the couch, sending the cat running.  "The first one hasn't even sold."

"It will."

"You hope."

That earned an eyebrow but not much else.

"You're not even really writing.  500 words a day?  Puh-lease."  I watched myself tap-tap-tapping away at the keyboard.  "No one's going to read it."

The tapping stopped.  Myself looked over the edge of the monitor.  "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Be sensible.  Why are you bothering?  The more you write, the more fucked up it gets.  Every sentence means more research."  I ticked off the points on my fingers.  "The Gold Rush, the Presidio, Mexican food and culture, race relations, continental politics, gender politics, clothing, native cultures, weather, geology, submarine mechanics, the Suffragette movement, slavery.  San Francisco, you know, the city you know bupkus about?"

Myself grimaced at the reminder of the bumpy road ahead.  "Right now I'm getting the character arcs and overall story.  Research comes later."

"Yeah, yeah, first drafts are allowed to suck.  You hear it from everyone on Twitter and then some," I said, waving away her argument.  "I think you're afraid to admit you've bitten off more than you can chew."

Myself screwed up her mouth like she'd swallowed something nasty.  "I'm really busy."

I mimed pounding on an invisible keyboard.  I crossed my eyes and stuck out my tongue.  "Duh, duh!  I'm busy.  500 words.  500 words.  Duh."

Myself flinched.  "Fuck off."

I sat up and jabbed an arthritic finger at myself.  "When's the last time you wrote a short story?  You love short stories.  You might even sell one again someday.  It could happen."

"There will be time for short stories, and I've sold plenty, thank you."

I snorted and sat back.  "Not that anyone's noticed."

Talk about tense.  Myself closed her eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly.  Another.  A third.  She opened her eyes.  "There's a picture of a baby White shark on Twitter."

I tipped my head to the side, the argument forgotten.  "Really?"

Myself nodded.

I stood - "I need to check that out." - and walked out without a backwards glance.

Myself sat in front of the computer, absorbing the comfort of silence.  She shook her head and got back to work.  Still had to make her word count for the day.

 

Baby-Shark-Costume

One thought on “So I Says To Myself. . .

  1. Joie

    Way to go on the daily progress, 500/day is amazing. (I am so delightfully pleased that picture brought you some joy and love. And very relieved that this is not just me who has these conversations!)

    Reply

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