As Thea regained consciousness she wondered what the ending of her story should be. (https://roughwighting.net/2018/11/30/on-the-last-day/)
And then she wondered which story she wanted to end.
In her fantasy novels, her readers insisted on a concrete “good wins over evil” finale. But as a middle-aged woman, Thea believed that . . . Continue reading
On this dreary day, Thea wrote sitting in the tub, her favorite place for creating stories. Writing allowed her to sink into another world while candles lit the steamy room and bath bubbles glistened.
But Thea’s story was side-tracked when a knock at the front door roused her from the fantasy world she’d created of knights and lasses and a well-spoken dragon. By the second, louder knock, she dried herself off with a towel, grumbling that she could have stayed in the tub another half hour.
The third knock was obnoxiously insistent, so Thea pulled on her jeans and sweatshirt and stomped to the door.
“Yes?” she asked, irritation noticeable in her tone. Continue reading
I wake up at 11:45 pm, 1:20, 2:55, and 3:39 a.m. Each time as I read the numbers, I beg for the clock to race to 5 a.m.
A restless sleep causes me to hear the murmurings of doubts. Continue reading
Judith strolled past the stores of the old town with disinterest.
“Mandy, why did you bring us here?” she moaned. “This is a virtual ghost town.” Judith surveyed the grungy bungalow-type buildings; the unkempt road; and the dearth of any human beings. If she wasn’t such a practical, no-nonsense sort of person, she’d be freaked. Continue reading
NO, not that one, I try to scream.
But of course, I can’t scream. I can screech, I can scratch like the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard. I can grit my metal teeth, and I can stutter mid-way between too many pages.
But I can’t scream.
I understand her frustration. I’ve chewed up draft after draft of that dang story she’s writing. Continue reading