Blogs can be useful tidbits of narrative to help writers hone their skills. That’s how I perceive them to be. However, it keeps the writer, well me anyway, from working on a current project. I spend too much time trying to come up with a piece to put on my blog rather than laboring over the next segment of my novel.
Just the other day, I was staring at the monitor trying to conjure up something interesting when I felt a slight heaviness on my left shoulder. I reached up to swipe whatever it was away, when a tiny voice squeaked indignantly, “Look out, you nearly knocked the sucker out of my hand!”
Startled, I turned my head and found that it was Melody, one of my characters from a much older story perched on my shirt. She must’ve snuck out of the computer while I was deep in thought. “What are you doing out here? I haven’t thought about you in years.”
“Obviously,” she said quite displeased.
“I’m a little busy right now, Melody.”
“What’cha doing?” she asked while tearing the wrapper off her lime green lollipop.
“I’m trying to come up with something to write about for my blog,” I said.
“There weren’t any of those things when you were writing about me!” she sighed, swinging her legs back and forth, tapping her tiny brown and white saddle shoes against my shoulder blade. “You couldn’t even use that as an excuse for not finishing,” pointing her sucker to the post page with title written, and nothing in the body.
“Don’t remind me,” I said a little ashamed.
“You know,” she said between licks, “you and I are alike. I think I’m actually you when you were little.”
“How so?” I was a little nervous anticipating her reply.
“Well, I never liked my name any more than you did.”
“How’d you know that?” surprised at this revelation.
“I just know,” she said, jutting out her chest. “Maybe that’s why you quit writing my story.”
“No, that’s not it. There were so many ideas whirling around in my head that…”
“You’re a procrastinator,” she interrupted.
“That’s a pretty big word for a little girl,” I retorted.
“I am wise beyond my years,” she boasted, shaking her curly brown locks. “Besides, you know you are.”
Such bravado coming from a little twerp, I didn’t need. So, I decided to disregard her last remark and concentrate on the blog.
Seeing my intent to ignore her, Melody started crinkling the cellophane from her candy wrapper in my ear. “You’re supposed to be working on your novel, not composing a blob!”
“It’s a blog,” I said. “And it’s good exercise for a writer.” I batted the paper away. What a pest!
“How about when you play solitaire on your laptop instead of writing?” her bright green lips smirked at me. “I know about that, too.”
“Look here missy, one more barb and I’ll archive your story so far into the Ethernet that it will never appear again.”
“Geez, I was only trying to be helpful. Don’t get so huffy,” Melody said, jumping off my shoulder and strutting onto the desk. She paused, fingering her monogrammed Peter Pan collar, then quickly swung around to face me, causing the pleats on her Pendleton skirt to billow out. With a tiny wave, she murmured, “I think I’ll come back when you’re in a better mood, or when you’ve finally finished something.”
That was the last straw. “Off with you, now!” I took a Post-it note, and scooted her back into the computer.
Distraction finally gone, I began to pick up where I’d left off when a quick glance at the clock reminded me that my soap opera was almost beginning. They’re going to be obsolete one of these days, so I’d hate to miss an episode. I know, I could still record it or watch it at a later time…but, well, I’m sure I’ll come up with something later, maybe after a game of Spider Solitaire.