I thought that this piece, a continuation of my first and my second “conversations” with Story, might be a good place to bring some closure to this month-long writing challenge.
…..
“Well?” She drummed her fingernails on the table.
“Well…what?” blinked Story, letting the right corner of her mouth twitch up into an almost-smile.
“Oh, come on. You know. You were the one who came in here a month ago, rocking all kinds of boats and upsetting all kinds of apple carts. You were the one who dragged me into this.” She folded her arms expectantly. “Don’t you think I deserve some kind of recognition?”
Story didn’t miss a beat. “Sure. Make yourself a cookie.”
Her face fell. “Ouch.” Then, “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think? All I’m asking for is some kind of acknowledgement that this month was hard. That it took courage and discipline to write fiction when all I really wanted to do was to stay comfortable in my journal and poetry zone. Is that too much to ask?”
“Why are you asking me? Who ever said you needed validation from me in the first place?”
She sat for a moment, looking at her hands, twiddling her thumbs, first forward…then backwards…
Story continued. “Was I the one who signed you up for writing every day?”
“No, but -“
“And was I the one who magically decided that you wanted to write more fiction?”
She cleared her throat. “I – I thought that you…”
“You thought! That’s the point!” Story shook her head. “You’re sitting here insisting I’m the one who put you up to this? That I’m the one who is somehow responsible for making you take this all on?”
She banged her palm on the table “That’s exactly what I’m saying. You’re the one who keeps showing up, who keeps following me, who keeps calling me a chicken if I don’t flex my writing muscles.”
“Honey, I hope you know by now that I like you.” Story looked her in the eye. “So I’m sure you will forgive me for telling you that’s a load of bull.”
She sat, confused, though nothing would surprise her at this point. “What on earth do you mean?”
“Oh, come on,” Story said. “It’s time for you to give yourself credit already. Yeah, I drop in from time to give you grief about things, but think about this: who’s sitting in front of the computer every day? Who’s deciding what to write? It sure as heck ain’t me.”
“But – but, the guilt trips? And the teasing?”
“All you, sweetie. I’m just a voice in your head.”
She sighed, loosened her shoulders. “So…I don’t need you after all then, do I?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s not go that far. Everybody needs me.” Story set her jaw. “And don’t you forget it.”