Really Random 'Riting

Soooo... I just realized it's Monday night and I haven't posted a blog yet. I'm currently working on writing the first hymn history post, but it's taking more time than I thought (which I don't mind because I love researching these things) so it isn't ready yet. Instead, I dug through my random scribblings and found this. I don't even remember writing it, but it's an imaginary interaction with one of my favorite characters from my current novel draft (which, btw, is about to hit 50K words!!! I've never made it past 35K on a project, so I'm a little pumped, LOL) that goes just a smidgeon wrong. It does have a few minor spoilers in it, but that's okay since there's no guarantees A Journey of Scars will ever make it to print. Reading back over it, I really don't know what to think. It's kinda cheesy, but it did make me smile (and cringe) a little bit. It's rough, unedited, unnamed, and random...but what else do you expect from a last-minute post from an exhausted writer? Enjoy.

Looking Joshua up and down, I sighed.

“It’s really a bummer you don’t exist in the real world…you’d be quite the character – no pun intended, of course.” The tall, muscular figment of my imagination slowly turned to look at me, adjusting his baseball cap as he did so. His voice was deep and tough.

            “Whaddya mean I don’t exist in the real world? I’m as real as you.”

            I chuckled.

            “You must be joking me. You do know you only exist because I made up your character and wrote you into one of my books, right?" I scanned him proudly. "I think I did quite well, if I do say so myself.”

            Josh’s eyebrows shot up and he looked downright shocked.

            “What do you mean I only exist in a book? Aren’t I standing here talking to you? Aren’t we standing in a coffee shop in Hillsboro, North Dakota?”

            I smirked as this tough redneck tried to understand his non-existent existence.

            “I mean exactly what I said. You only exist in a book…my book to be precise. And you are standing here talking to me in my imagination only…and I’m in a coffee shop in Hillsboro, North Dakota. You aren’t.” I paused. “Well, I guess you are since you’re in my imagination and my imagination is inside my brain which fills what would be an otherwise empty space in my head, which rests nicely on my body which is seated comfortably at a coffee-shop in North Dakota where I am talking to you in my imagination.” I looked at him, quite proud of my line of reasoning. He shifted his weight and scratched his head.

            “Can you explain that again? You lost me at the imagination part…”

            When I started to laugh, his hand shifted to rest on his hip holster and he started to scowl. Cutting off my laughter, I smiled nervously.

            “I, uh, I only meant that you are technically at a coffee shop in North Dakota right now because I am at a coffee shop and you’re in my imagination. I, uh, didn’t mean to be so confusing. I just overcomplicate things sometimes…I’m a writer, it’s what I do best.” I shrugged apologetically.

“Really, I meant no offense. No need to, uh, to pull out your weapon.” I mentally kicked myself for writing such a redneck young man into existence, much less give him a weapon he apparently didn’t have the maturity to be carrying. He snorted and continued to stare at me. Finally, a small hint of a mocking smile appeared on his face.

“So,” he drawled, “what would happen if I were to shoot the writer who supposedly wrote me into existence? Will my existence become non-existence? Or will my non-existence become existence?” 

“Haha,” I faked a laugh. “You got me…that’s a good one; existence become non-existence or non-existence become existence. You win.”

            His face remained stoic and his eyes piercing. I began quivering in my boots, wondering if he was serious about shooting me. He took a step toward me.

            “If you’re my writer, than you’re the one who killed my parents and put my little sister and I through so much trauma.” He drew the pistol half-way out of it’s holster, glaring at me. I put up my hands in surrender and stepped backward.

            “I, uh, I don’t remember writing you as so scary. You’re supposed to be outwardly tough, but inwardly tender and loving towards your family.”

Pulling the pistol out still farther, he followed me, chuckling,

“Well, I don’t remember you ever writing yourself into the story as part of my family, therefore I’m not required to tender and loving toward you.”

The pistol was almost completely out of it’s holster and I considered running…except I’ve heard you’re never supposed to turn your back to the enemy and apparently, my character protégé had suddenly become a menacing enemy.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, ashamed of how my voice betrayed my terror.

“I want you to rewrite me and my sister’s life story. Promise to give us a normal life and I will let you live.”

            Before I had a chance to think, protest bubbled out of me.

            “But, but, but,” I clutched my head, “then I’d have to rewrite the entire storyline. I can’t do that. I’ve poured too much time, energy, tears, and love into my novel to rewrite it now…” I tensed as the evil eye of the pistol emerged from the holster to stare straight at me. My heart stopped beating and I froze. Looking death straight in the eye, my courage failed me and I fainted.

*****

“Ma’am, Ma’am! Are you okay?”

            I forced my heavy eyelids to open and was surprised to be viewing the coffee shop from a whole new angle as I lay flat on the floor. My purse was under my back, arching my body in an uncomfortable way and the concerned face of the barista who had taken my order swam in my vision.

            “What happened?” My voice was thick and dry.

            “I don’t know.” The barista looked confused and flustered. “You were standing by the counter waiting for your order. It looked like you were staring off into space and then all of a sudden, you were on the floor! Should I call an ambulance.

            Willing my body into a upright, sitting position I smiled weakly.

            “Nah, I’ll be fine. Let me just sit here for a moment and then I’ll be on my way.”

            “Are you sure?” She seemed concerned, but also distracted by the line of customers waiting to be helped. When I nodded, she stood up and hurried away, calling over her shoulder. “Okay, your order is on the counter whenever you’re ready for it.”

Ignoring all the stares, I rested my head against the counter and dug my phone out of my purse.

“Bro, remind me to never again write a redneck country boy with a passion for guns and family into my novels!"