The writer waited.
The woman did the same.
The writer quickly lost interest in waiting, as patience was not one of his few virtues. “Do you realize I just asked you a question?”
The woman nodded. “Of course I do. I didn’t like the question, so I’m ignoring it. You got another one?”
The writer did not. “Oh. Well, I hadn’t planned on asking you any questions, so I don’t really have a backup. I was just on my way to get another lukewarm beer so I could tolerate a few more minutes on this wretchedly overcrowded beach. And then I noticed you sitting there, and I couldn’t help but wonder what you were trying to prove, so I asked.”
The woman nodded again. “So my plan is working.”
The writer had another question after all. “You have a plan?”
“Do I look like somebody who doesn’t always have a plan?”
The writer fought back his immediate response and settled on another option. “Well, you certainly seem to be invested in doing something, so I’ll give you that.”
The woman smiled broadly, an action that she should probably warn people about before doing so, as the display was quite startling. “I want to be in your next book! I know you’re writing one. A short story collection. And you’re having trouble with chapter twelve. I know you’ve got a placeholder there because you can’t figure out a good transition between the story in chapter eleven and the story in chapter thirteen. I can be your placeholder!”
The writer began to grow somewhat concerned, as the situation was creeping from total-stranger interaction to something with a noticeable bouquet of stalker. “You seem to know a lot of things that I would think you shouldn’t. How did you learn this?”
The woman nodded a third time, which was starting to get annoying, so perhaps we’ll dispense with the more detailed expositional narrative and just let the characters speak. “I got the intel from my radar detector. Her name is Leona.”
Writer: “Leona?”
Woman: “Yes. Do you know her?”
Writer: “I certainly hope not. I was just thrown by the concept of you naming your accessories.”
Woman: “Anything that makes you happy should have a name. I’m assuming you have a name for your dangle, right?”
She had me there. (Actually, I have multiple names, but this is not the time.) “Point taken.”
Woman: “She’s on my head right now.”
Writer: “Leona?”
Woman: “Yes. Do you know her?”
Writer, clenching: “No, I do not. Unless I met her in college. Those years are a drunken blur of missed classes and impromptu road trips.”
Woman: “Oh, I understand that. I once woke up in the dean’s office with a goat nibbling on a petunia in my ear.”
Writer, further clenching: “I don’t think we need to know any more about that. What I would like to know is why you think you should be in my book. It’s mostly stories about my younger years and I don’t think I know you. Unless we met in college.”
Woman: “Because I’m already in your book. I’m a minor character in the story-series that begins in chapter thirteen. But I want a bigger part. And it makes sense to feature me in chapter twelve so my cameos in the following series will be more resonant. As a writer, aren’t you all about the long-ass build-up to your eventual point?”
She had me there, again. But who was this person? No bells were ringing. I needed to find out. “I’m thinking we should have a deeper conversation.”
Woman: “Terrific. Let’s go get some beers. Lukewarm is better than nothing.” She ripped the sack off her head and tossed it aside.
Me: “I guess you’re done with Leona?”
Woman: “Oh, that was just a pointless prop to make the story more interesting. But you know all about that, don’t you?”
Yes. Yes, I do.
We tromped across the crowded beach in search of tepid beverages, still not fully trusting one another but determined to make this random post alluring enough that people might actually look forward to my next book. One that may or may not have a resolution for that blank space in chapter twelve.
Previously published, although the original tiny story has been eliminated and replaced with this new and expanded take. Parts of this mini-saga are actually true. I’ll let you decide what is what, although you might need to snatch up the abandoned Leona in order to get the right signal…
Categories: Past Imperfect
Bonnywood Manor 
I was once someone’s muse… but, we had an argument and I was demoted to minor character in a limerick she wrote while tripping on morning glory seeds…
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Oh, I’ve been there. Of course, in my case, I didn’t just end up in a limerick, I ended up in a restraining order… 😉
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It’s the first time I’ve ever seen a ‘face like thunder’.
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Then you haven’t seen my face in the morning when SOMEONE forgot to buy coffee the night before… 😉
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When a minor character self-advocates as Woman did, you have no choice but to listen and tromp.
Also, thanks for the LOL for the pointless prompt. Made my day. 🙂
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I always listen to my characters, even the walk-ons, and even when they annoy me. If a writer doesn’t play nice with his creations, trouble ensues…
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“a pointless prop to make the story more interesting” Hahaha. That’s too funny. Yes, one sometimes engages in such kind of conversation with one’s character. One has to be gentle with them since they can be whimsical and temperamental.
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Character-management is a fine art. You have to be nice to them or they will turn on you in a second…
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I often find that the villain I pile a lot of bad traits on ends up becoming the star of the story. It really baffles me and I almost can’t stand it.
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Oh, I’ve been there. I’ve worked on many stories where the character initially designated as “the bad seed” starts taking on more endearing qualities as I scribble away, and the whole plot transitions into something else. But that’s one of the joys of writing. You start in one place, and you end up in another…
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😂🤲
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🙂 🙂
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I sure hope the book has photos… especially chapter 12.
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You know, that’s the one thing I haven’t been able to master when formatting my books for publishing on Kindle. Every time I try to insert one, the who program goes haywire and I get lots of rude warning alerts. So I take them back out. One day, I will figure that mess out. Because, trust, I have a lot of photos that the world needs to see… 😉
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Okay I want to know how you got in my family archives of dusty pictures and found that? It was a hot day, the sand was working its way into cracks and crevasses that hadn’t been spelunked in twenty five years, there was NO cold beer (I’d rather have a frosty ginger ale, but to each his own); and now some uninvited chap had stopped to ponder upon Mildred’s new chapeau. “Fuck off.” said Mildred, surly because that sand ITCHED and even with her manners, she wouldn’t scratch such unseemly places in public. The writer, unperturbed, let the insult roll off his back. He had worse flung at him after all. And crabby old biddies who were too dim witted to bring a proper hat with them, and had to make do with the sack that held potato salad (which had gone off. It was hot, but that’s been mentioned). Her idiocy did not excuse her lapse of good manners of course, but meh. The writer smiled. Wouldn’t this make a great addition to his Tales of Bonnywood…?
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First, every comment of yours (well, most of them) is fodder for future Tales of Bonnywood. You know the exact buttons to push that force my mind to consider the possibilities…
Second, now I’m yearning to rewrite this story from the perspective of the gone-off potato salad. (See? Buttons.)
Third, I only briefly delved into your family-archive photos. (Have you considered changing your password this century?) But I soon aborted the mission when I realized that your familial cache couldn’t even begin to compete with the horrors of my own cache… 😉
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I’ve seen more flinty-eyed gritty realism unfolding here than I could wish to unsee.
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Mwahahaha…so my ‘evil’ plan worked then.. 😉 Hee hee hee
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I think both of you should review the Lageose family-reunion photos from 1976. There was so much bitter angst and furtive desires for back-stabbing that all of the surrounding flora and fauna are dead in the background of the snapshots. I’m sure we left a stain at that campground that will never go away… 😉
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Ah, the joy of strained family get-togethers.But blood will gout
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Very funny.
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Thank you!
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Brian, I don’t think you should have this death stare person placeholding in your book. While you attract readers of strong and resilient constitution, you do have to take the inadvertent exposure of small children into account. 😉
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Agreed. As I prep this pending book and contemplate editing decisions, I will pause to consider “What would Lynette do?”. And then I will proceed accordingly… 😉
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Thank you, very insightful message, I wish I were able to express myself this well.
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How kind of you to say! Thank you for doing so.
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OK, Brian, please explain: how did she ever manage to fit that goat into her ear? J.
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I think all will be made clear once I do the Big Reveal on who “Woman” really is. Of course, based on my zig-zagging blog focus, it’s possible that said reveal may not happen until 2027. But we’ll see…
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I’ve never seen someone look so unhappy at the beach. Maybe she got sand in her Leona.
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Leona’s expression (her upper one) is nothing compared to the horrified shock on my own face when we got to the end of the beach and discovered the beer hut was closed… 😉
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