So, here I am, done all the minutiae of life. You know what I’m talking about: laundry, bed making, floor sweeping and pulling ticks off the dog. Or at least I’m done what I wanted to accomplish before I sat down to write a few words. Things are going good, the computer fired up just fine, the internet is working and I have a hot cup of tea with which to restore myself in between: gahs! and, for fuck sakes, she would never say that!
Then the hubby walks in the door…
Him: Hey, you busy?
Him: Wha cha doin’?
Me: Tap, tap, tap, tap.
Him: Seeing as you aren’t busy, can you come give me a hand?
Me: *takes two deep breaths* I am busy. See—look—tap, tap, tap.
Him: You’ve got like, fifteen tabs open on your computer, looks more like you’re surfing than writing.
Me: I’m doing research…
Him: *snort* You have Facebook open, and recipes, poultry feed and banking stuff. How’s that writing?
Me: I have Facebook open because I was having a hard time figuring out if I should use i.e. or e.g. and wanted to ask writer-type friends if they knew, I have recipes open because I’m trying to find a dessert that will hide the flavour of some household poisons, then I found out that they put arsenic into chicken feed to make them grow bigger and thought I could use that instead, and I also need to find out how someone could break into a safe built in 1973. It’s all for my story.
Him: 1973? Why 1973?
Me: My protagonist’s grandmother built the safe in 1973. I’m having a hard time finding any information…
Him: What’s a protag-nist?
Me: Protagonist. The main character of my story.
Him: (Pause) So, seeing as you aren’t busy, can you come and help me in the garage. It won’t take long. Five—six hours at the most. I’m trying to build a replica of the flyer the Wright brother’s used for their first flight.
Him: So, is that a yes?
Him: Why are you grabbing that knife?