The doorbell rings.

Terry opens the door to find Little Tiffy standing there. “Can Brian come out to play?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s busy.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know. Some kind of writing project thing.”

“What’s that?”

“A writing project. Where he writes. What grade are you in?”

“I’m not supposed to give personal information to strangers.”

“I’m not a stranger. You’ve been coming over here for years.”

“Oh. I might not know what a stranger is, then. Will Brian be done with his project tomorrow? I miss his stories.”

“I don’t think so. It’s a big project. Why don’t I have him call you when he’s done.”

“I guess that’s okay.”

“It will have to be okay. Now run back home and we’ll talk to you soon.”

Little Tiffy just stands there.

“Is there something else?”

“Well, since I’m already here, do you wanna buy any Girl Scout cookies?”

Editor’s Note: Little Brian is currently taking the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) challenge, a daunting adventure wherein one attempts to write 50,000 words in the month of November. This means that he will not be available in the dazzling world of social media as often as he would like, thus explaining time gaps that you may have already noticed with his blog work. But he wanted me to let you know that he will still get new material out as often as possible, so please continue to stop by for potential surprises.

Little Tiffy: “Who’s that man talking over us? Jesus?”

Terry: “Hardly.”

“He kind of sounds like Brian.”

“Then it’s definitely not Jesus.”

“Can you go see if Brian’s done yet?”

“I’m sure that he’s not. You just need to be patient.”

“I’m not very good at that.”

“You should practice more.”

“Mom says the same thing, all the time.”

“Speaking of, I think I hear her calling your name. Better go see what she wants.”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Adults can hear things that children can’t.”

“I know that. That’s why I can’t watch R-rated movies.”

“Sure, that’s exactly what I meant. Now look, Tiffy, it’s really time for you to go.”

“Okay, fine.” She turned and plunked down the porch steps.

Terry firmly closed the door. He turned and took three steps, then heard an odd scratching. Turning back around, he watched as a something dropped out of the mail slot. He picked up the folded page. A message was written on Hello Kitty stationery.

“Is he done yet?”