Conversations with Works In Progress

Act One: Yesterday’s Short Story Idea

Peter sits at Fritz the Laptop, planning his writing time for the day.

WIP: Oooo, I haz a title.
Peter: Go away, I’m meant to be working on my novel right now.
WIP: “The Unicorns of Suffragette Three”
Peter: …
Peter: No. I will not be lured. Aroynt.
WIP: (sing-song and tempting) I have an op-en-ing par-a-graaaaaph.
Peter: You do not.
WIP: Yes, actually, I do. Look it’s this. (Whispers in ear)
Peter: …
WIP: See?
Peter: I hate you.
WIP: You really don’t.
Peter: …
Peter: Fine. Lets talk.
WIP: Good.
Peter: So…
WIP: I wish to be long.
Peter: How long? I mean, crap, I don’t have time to write something long right now. You can have five thousand words, I think. I’d really like it if you’d fit into five thousand words. Six at the outside.
WIP: I want more.
Peter: How much more?
WIP: I want…ten thousand.
Peter: Eight.
WIP: Twelve.
Peter: You don’t grasp how this negotiation thing works, do you?
WIP: “Unicorns, unicorns, tra-la-la”
Peter: …
Peter: Right. Ten thousand. But if you suck, I’ll make you pay. Oh yes, I’ll make you pay.

Act Two: Black Candy

Peter is drinking coffee. The project he’s meant to be working on barges into the room, causing Fritz the Laptop  to shriek in terror.

BC: Dude, come on.
Peter: Sorry.
BC: You said you’d finish me.
Peter: I’m trying, but you’re problematic.
BC: You knew that when you agreed to this.
Peter: You’re a skeleton with the wrong bits of meat attached.
BC: Slacker.
Peter: I hate you.
BC: Yeah? Well I hate you too.
Peter: …
Peter: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.  
BC: I’m not asking for much. Just two thousand words a day. Most of those are already written, remember?
Peter: Dude, I hate to say it, but your seventy-thousand words of first act.
BC: Ouch. Cold dude, very cold.

Interlude, with cat

The Cat: Feed me!
Peter feeds the cat
The Cat: Feed me!
Peter feeds the cat
The Cat: Feed Me!
Peter feeds the cat.
Peter: Somehow this “just give him more food if he wants it” theory hasn’t worked the way I was lead to believe.
The Cat: Says you. Our current paradigm is the awesomes.
Peter: Please go away. I need to work.
The Cat: I savage your toe!
Peter: You would bug me less if I’d seen some sign of the chickens today.

Act Three: My Poor, Neglected YoN Novel

YON: I have ghouls! And Guns! And Swords against Death!
Peter: I know, dude. I’m sorry. I want to work on you.
YON: Swashbuclkey action! Evil Cardinals!
Peter: Yes, I know. I’m sorry. Not yet.
YON: Cannibalism!
Peter: Well, technically not cannibalism. Ghouls eat human dead. They’re not the same species.
YON: …
YON: (sulk)
YON: I hate you.
Peter: Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around.
YON: Do I at least get to keep the Festival of Carrion?
Peter: Sir, I insist on it.

Act Four: My Masked Wrestlers from Mars Idea

MWFM: Hey, I’ve got an idea for an opening chapter.
Peter: Not now.
MWFM: And I think I should totally riff off of Beowulf.
Peter: Everyone riffs of Beowulf.
MWFW: But I do it with martians and moonsaults off the top rope.
Peter: Touche.
MWFW: So can we get something cooking?
Peter: We can take notes.
MWFW: I’m cool with that, dude.
Peter: God bless you sir, at least someone is.

Act Five: The Blog

Blog: You promised you were going to post something of meaning today.
Peter: Yeah, well, you get what you get.

The Blog sulks. Peter goes back to work.