I had an epiphany while on a walk today, quite the inner dialogue going on. Sometimes it wasn’t so inner. I wasn’t talking to myself, exactly, I did have the dog along, and there were some cows here and there, and I passed a few chickens. Not that the cows knew what I was talking about when I suddenly burst out with, “But it doesn’t WORK. There is no story, no structure.” Or, “I’m just going to drop it. Drop it!” Honey looked at me then, like maybe I wanted her to drop the stick or something. “Oh my God,” I said at one point, “I’m turning into my mom."
Even though I know better, I keep thinking that I have to come up with the story all by myself, but right when I said I thought the book was crap and that I was going to give up, they came. (Well, okay, they didn't, like, walk up and fist bump me. This metaphorical - stay with me here.) Angel and Jesse, Claire and Chad, Tuesday Morrison, Bitsy Bean, Stick Brown. Tuesday's purple hair flowed around her. Glaring at me she hissed, “Don’t even think about trashing me.” Angel and Jesse, entwined like a couple on the cover of a romance novel begged, "Please don't kill us," even though Jesse’s already dead. Bitsy Bean would never dare to say anything, but her wispy hair covered her tear-filled eyes as she shook her head mournfully. Stick Brown was all, “I went through all THAT and now it doesn’t matter? I drugged all those people? Jesse died in MY room, on MY bed, and now it’s all a big ptfffff?” Claire is pissed too. “Hey, I need to be there for my friend. Ya know?” Chad is all, “Hey, I need to look like a ridicules jerk, ya know? I have to play my part.” And play it well you shall, my friend, because I will give you life.
It’s hard enough with three teens in the house. Now I have seven more to deal with. Yes, I will let you play it out. Go ahead and die, Jesse. Now the question is – of the rest of the six . . . who done it? Hmmmm. I wonder.