I open the door to my writing office, juggling a bowl of cherry tomatoes and a glass of water. Feels like it’s been ages since …
“About fecking time you came back.”
“Damn it!” I chase two tomatoes across the floor while trying not to spill any water. “What the hell?”
My Muse scoops up a third wayward tomato. “That was my next question, love.”
I set my snacks on the desk and reach out for the captured tomato. “Either eat it or give it back.”
He pops it into his mouth and bites down. I imagine the tomato innards squirting into his mouth, and grab one of my own. Man, I love garden tomatoes. Cherry ones are so convenient, like Whoppers only squishier and not chocolate.
Mmm, chocolate. I wonder if I still have any chocolate left from the reunion.
My Muse finishes chewing and takes a swig of my water. He’s wearing his worn-well jeans and burgundy Henley with the sleeves shoved to his elbows. He plants hands on hips, stretching his shirt tight across his broad chest. Did that shirt shrink a little?
“Hey,” he snaps his fingers, “pay attention, love.”
“Just when were you planning on coming back here?”
I raise my arms, encompassing the office. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“No, when are you coming back here?” He reaches over and taps my head. “You have a revision to finish so you can send it to beta readers.”
“I was working on it earlier this week. I think. Oh hell, I don’t even know what day it is anymore.”
“It’s ‘butt in chair, hands on keyboard’ day,” he says, pointing to the recliners in the alcove.
“Hey, I haven’t been twiddling my thumbs, you know. I finished a beta read for another author, I’m working on a critique due in a couple days, I had a hella amount of instructional videos to watch and take notes on for my class–which reminds me, I have homework to do, and I should probably pay my tuition. I have another writer’s pages to read and critique. And, oh, I do have a full-time job, not to mention the real life family stuff, like helping my husband.”
“Yes, and your point?” He leans toward me and taps my head again. “This is where you need to be.” He points to the recliners again. “I want to see you spend at least an hour a day there. Not checking email …”
“Like I’ve been checking my email,” I mutter under my breath. I’m afraid to check one of my accounts–the number of new emails is probably racing toward a thousand.
My Muse gives me the stink-eye. “Not checking Facebook, not reading all the random articles that pop up on your home page …”
“Okay, okay, I get it. Some of that stuff still needs to be done, you know. Facebook is where our Sisters in Crime chapter communicates with the members. And where I need to share my upcoming book festival.” Speaking of, I’ll probably have to spend a day working on my website with customer service since my design software broke, or redesigning it without the cool software. Ugh. If it comes to that, there goes another day.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to have Book 2 to sell at a book festival?” He grips my shoulder and nails me with stern blue eyes. A shiver runs down my spine. “I’m going to be a hard-ass until you get your writing back into your routine. You’re adjusted to your new work schedule and the garden is almost done. Take your daily walk, run, whatever, but I want no excuses. Got it?”
“Yes, I got it.”
“Good. Grab your computer, sit your ass down, and get to work.”
Now’s probably not the time to tell him about the new idea my writing teacher gave me. He’d have another excuse to be overbearing and grumpy.
Happy upcoming Autumn Equinox! Man, it’s fall already. Take some time to enjoy it before the snow flies (or the rainy season starts. Whatever is the thing in your region).