For those of you who may remember my lovely and talented muse, she has been in a bit of a stew over the fact that I have not produced any solid writing for a woman of her many disciplines and personalities in quite some time.
So, being the spineless jellyfish when it come to dealing with my muse, "Contrary to your mistaken tone, I am writing you a story."
"Excuse me? Don't you dare use that tone with me!"
"What tone? I was simply correcting your incorrect perception of what I'm doing for you. Look, sometime ago you asked me to write you a story because you were bored with being on vacation with nothing to do except surf, swim and suntan. So off I went in search of a good story in which you could use your plethora of disciplines and personalities. Believe you me, it wasn't easy as it sounds. I searched high and low for a suitable story. I tried thinking of an original story, but had no luck. So then I tried thinking about a story to which I could continue working on, and immediately torpedoed that once I realized that the story in question was the story which shall not be named.
"So then I thought about a story that I could rewrite. A story that was mediocre at worst, average at best. So off I went looking for a suitable story that would work for you. A few..."
"Get to the point you. You're putting me and your loyal readers to sleep. As Graham Chapman would say, 'Get on with it!'"
"Spoil sport. Here. This is the story that I found to re-write for little ol' you."
|The 411 is here.|
"Yuppers. I found the original version buried seriously deep in a locked box stashed in a van down by the river where only the local gov'ment spook* had a copy of the key. I dusted off the remnants of another anti-guv'ment spook* from the manuscript and set about reinventing it in the genre that I love the most: paranormal/fantasy. Using the original as only the skimpiest of outlines, I got busy working on it in my free time (although I will admit the last time I worked on this was June 30, 2013). Over the past Memorial Day weekend, I wrote out..."
"Excuse me, wrote out? Like pen and paper wrote out?"
"Yes, my mercurial bodacious one. Pen and paper. And Mother Nature for inspiration, relaxation, contemplation, rationalization, education and exasperation. Like I previously stated, I last worked on it two years ago, and two years ago I wrote in the paranormal/fantasy genre, which my stories feature hybrid animal/humans, strange humans (gnarly looking dwarf who acts as security), normal humans, a touch of magic/occult, foreign languages and strange animals (piranha dog anyone?). All for fulfilling your need of being needed."
"Hardly. This past weekend, I managed to finish another chapter that I started earlier in May. Six handwritten pages which boiled down to two and half pages when transcribed totaling 1600+ words. So, does this start to fulfill your insatiable need to be needed?"
My mercurial muse hemmed and hawed for a minute or so, then turned on her heel, slapped my face with both her tail and her knee length hair and walked out of the room and to the mini-briefcase, where I have the first couple of pages to chapter three written out. She unzipped the mini-briefcase, squeezed all five foot eleven inches plus an equal amount of hair and her tail inside, then briefly stuck out her finger and wiggled it. Sighing, I walked over to the mini-briefcase and leaned in. She poked me in the throat and instantly the following words were BBQd into my brain.
"Failure to communicate, is not in my vocabulary. If you communicate, we will never have failure."
Then she withdrew her finger, zipped up, and left me to contemplate the eternal question of writing: What do I do next?
*I am a moderate Republican and those two yahoos make all good Republicans cringe.
(c) 2015 by G.B. Miller. All Rights Reserved.