|
Well,
it’s official. I finished a book in a
month. I actually completed my project before the deadline, so I
started on the sequel. I still have much rewriting to do before either
are marketable, but I’m on the right track. Let me tell you, though, it
wasn’t easy. As usual, everything that could get in my way tried to.
Not even halfway through the
project, I developed a sinus/ear
infection. Have you ever tried to write while the room feels as though
it’s spinning? It’s not something I care to repeat again, that’s for
sure.
Many other things happened as
well (I won’t bore you with the
details), and they were quite discouraging. There were several times I
wanted to quit. My husband tried to encourage me on those days—using
reverse psychology.
Bless his pea-pickin’ heart.
I told the folks in my writing
group to give me a swift kick in the
pants to keep me moving, but I didn’t tell my beloved to partake in
this activity.
The nerve.
Anyway, one particular day, he
came home from work and found me
sitting in our office, rocking in my trusty chair—with my eyes closed.
“Did you write anything today?”
Rock. Rock. “No, I’m thinking.”
“Looks like you’re dozing to
me.”
Can’t a woman think
with her eyes closed?
“Well, I’m tired, and I have
been sick, you know.”
“I know, honey, but you’d
better get to writing if you want to make your goal today.”
Whatever happened to offering a
sick person a bowl of chicken soup?
Okay, so I don’t like chicken soup, but it could have been cream of
potato or something.
I continued rocking.
A few minutes later, he sat down
at his desk, located across the
room from mine, and also on the other side of my rocker. He began
hammering away on his keyboard.
Peck. Peck. Peck.
My eyes popped open.
The more he pecked the more
perturbed I grew. I guess it was because
I knew I should have been the one typing, not him. Not only that,
hadn’t he seen me sleeping in the chair when he got home?
Oh, wait. I was supposed to be
thinking, wasn’t I?
Peck. Peck. Peck.
Rock. Rock. Rock.
I sat up on the edge of my seat.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“I’m writing.”
“You’re what?”
“I don’t mean like the kind of
writing you do; I’m working on something else.”
I narrowed my eyes and stared at
his back. “Since when?”
“Oh, I’ve been working on this
for a while now.”
“Yeah, right.” I’m on
to you, sweetheart.
“I have.”
Peck. Peck. Peck.
I wanted to get up and smack,
smack, smack something. But I didn’t. I decided to leave the room
instead.
He swiveled around in his chair.
“Where are you going?”
“Somewhere quiet where I can
take a nap.” I headed for the bedroom and shut the door.
|
As
I lay in bed, I thought about how I never
notice the constant clicking of the keys when I’m writing, yet when he
sat there typing away, it felt like a thousand bass drums going off in
my head. I dismissed the thought and grabbed the remote to turn on the
fan, knowing it would help me to snooze.
Thirty minutes later, as I lay
there with my foot jiggling and my
fingers tapping against the blanket, I decided to abandon my leisure. I
threw the covers to the side, bolted out of bed, and walked back into
the office. I plopped down on the chair in front of my computer.
Peck. Peck. Peck.
The man was like the Energizer
Bunny, still going strong.
The keys suddenly stopped, and
because I was so used to the rhythm, I nearly fell out of my seat.
“Couldn’t sleep, honey?” he
said.
Reaching for the button on my
brain box, I punched it hard, booting up my computer. “No.”
“Oh. Are you going to write
now?”
Are you going to write
now?
“Maybe.” Of course, I knew I
was, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing.
He resumed clicking, and I
opened the file for my WIP. I began
typing away. Lost in my own work, I no longer heard what he was doing.
Less than ten minutes later, he
stopped, got up from his desk, and sat in my recliner.
Rock. Rock. Rock.
And I suddenly noticed the
springs as they squeaked, squeaked, squeaked.
I swiveled around in my chair. “What
are you doing now?”
He lifted his hands in the air.
“I’m just resting.” He turned to look at me. “Am I bothering you?”
As a matter of fact,
you are.
“No, I’m just trying to
think.”And unlike earlier, I really was trying to stimulate my brain
cells this time.
He got up and sighed. “I guess
I’ll go into the bedroom then.”
Oh, sure. Now that
you’ve got me awake and moving, you’re going to go to sleep.
I pictured him on the bed, lying
in front of the fan, all cozy and drifting away—the place where I
wanted to be earlier.
The nerve.
My fingers sprang to life and
flew across the keyboard. In less than an hour, I had my word count in
for the day.
I shut down my computer, got up
from my desk, and went into the
bedroom. Thinking he was sleeping, I quietly crawled into bed next to
him and closed my eyes. I felt my body sinking into a cloud. That’s
what I’m talking about.
“Did you get your writing
done?” he said.
My eyes popped open again. “I
thought you were asleep.”
“I wasn’t sleeping yet.”
“Yes. I’m done.”
He patted me on the leg. “I knew
you could do it, dear.”
Can you believe that? The man
pecked, perturbed, and pushed me into
production, and he knew exactly what he was doing the whole time.
He knows me well.
The nerve.
|
