VOICES
I hear them again. No matter what I'm doing, especially if it's not at the computer, they are there. Sometimes they whisper little pieces of advice in my ear, other times they yell because I'm not doing what they think I should. Several weeks ago I addressed their little problems for awhile; one group of them shut up. Then the others started yakking at me, telling me I was unfair, that I'd better start paying attention to them or else. Or else what, I don't know.
The voice that really drives me nuts is Aunt Lutie. Now, she's supposed to be the dearly departed aunt of Mary Margaret Butler, better known as MM, and should have been satisfied to settle herself up there wherever to tend to new experiences. Instead, she pops up now and then to jab MM about not being married, and for almost getting herself killed when trying to root out a murderer in the small town of Harts Corner, Texas. I thought I had ended that with the completion of her story but. . .well, the book hasn't been snatched up by an agent or a publisher so Aunt Lutie is still yapping at me.
The gals who are getting even with all the men who done them wrong in Pink Poodle Pie are a bit upset with me since I pulled their stories from a publisher I didn't think would do them right. I kind of got a bad taste in my mouth over the whole deal and those ladies are just resting, not too happily I am finding out, and their voices are getting pretty shrill. I'd best find the time to research some other publishers or I will have a chorus forever singing in my ear, driving me to distraction big time.
BJ is stuck in her Lousiana hometown after returning from California. It was okay to be a widow but she now has her eye on an old classmate, Pete. Maybe her eyes are what she should have been using because she plum ran right into his shiny new truck with her U-Haul as she steered into town. She really gave me a fit when I allowed her grandson to drive her right up the wall and almost let her daughter fix it so she couldn't have a home of her own. After all, Candy liked to come home from the Boudin Sausage Plant to find her home clean and supper on the table. Now, to add to Candy's whining, I have BJ rather indignant because I haven't let her get on with her life. I stopped the story right when Pete is lurking around her boat dock in the dead of the night and finds a dead body floating in her bayou. I've got to find the time to get this hot pepper off my back.
Callie is on the run. She was perfectly happy to be safely hidden in that small village in Mexico and then I dump Rafael into her kitchen, the Federales at her door, the landlord in a jealous snit, and some balding guy with a ponch (and a shiny new RV)watching her. I've reminded her that both the good and bad guys are afer her--and she doesn't know which is which.
To make matters worse, I'm hearing voices from above. Yep, The Old One is stomping his foot at me, telling me I need to get back to Danny who slipped out the Red Door and wound up back on earth, on a Navajo Reservation, of all places. That should be incentive enough for me to bring him home but Danny is scared he's never going to complete his search, he's mad because I've saddled him with a girl and he has no idea how he'll ever make it back up there where he now belongs. The Old One's cat, Marmalade, hisses at me each time I bring up the computer screen. I guess I'd better offer him some tuna delight before he sinks his teeth into my fingers clicking these keys.
Voices. Lacey, the traveling accountant, hears a tiny voice--one that belongs to a little girl wrapped in a sheet-covered package left in a vacant life--a voice begging me to find out what caused her to be there, left alone with tiny feet sticking out of a shroud. Sweeney, a ghost child, trying to make an old wrong right.
A woman in the Witness Protection Plan running again--with a wounded man beside her and a dead boss behind her.
Voices. Too many of them. And it's all my fault that I hear them. I created the people they belong to--and the only way I can shut those voices up is to do my job--share them with the reading world.
The voice that really drives me nuts is Aunt Lutie. Now, she's supposed to be the dearly departed aunt of Mary Margaret Butler, better known as MM, and should have been satisfied to settle herself up there wherever to tend to new experiences. Instead, she pops up now and then to jab MM about not being married, and for almost getting herself killed when trying to root out a murderer in the small town of Harts Corner, Texas. I thought I had ended that with the completion of her story but. . .well, the book hasn't been snatched up by an agent or a publisher so Aunt Lutie is still yapping at me.
The gals who are getting even with all the men who done them wrong in Pink Poodle Pie are a bit upset with me since I pulled their stories from a publisher I didn't think would do them right. I kind of got a bad taste in my mouth over the whole deal and those ladies are just resting, not too happily I am finding out, and their voices are getting pretty shrill. I'd best find the time to research some other publishers or I will have a chorus forever singing in my ear, driving me to distraction big time.
BJ is stuck in her Lousiana hometown after returning from California. It was okay to be a widow but she now has her eye on an old classmate, Pete. Maybe her eyes are what she should have been using because she plum ran right into his shiny new truck with her U-Haul as she steered into town. She really gave me a fit when I allowed her grandson to drive her right up the wall and almost let her daughter fix it so she couldn't have a home of her own. After all, Candy liked to come home from the Boudin Sausage Plant to find her home clean and supper on the table. Now, to add to Candy's whining, I have BJ rather indignant because I haven't let her get on with her life. I stopped the story right when Pete is lurking around her boat dock in the dead of the night and finds a dead body floating in her bayou. I've got to find the time to get this hot pepper off my back.
Callie is on the run. She was perfectly happy to be safely hidden in that small village in Mexico and then I dump Rafael into her kitchen, the Federales at her door, the landlord in a jealous snit, and some balding guy with a ponch (and a shiny new RV)watching her. I've reminded her that both the good and bad guys are afer her--and she doesn't know which is which.
To make matters worse, I'm hearing voices from above. Yep, The Old One is stomping his foot at me, telling me I need to get back to Danny who slipped out the Red Door and wound up back on earth, on a Navajo Reservation, of all places. That should be incentive enough for me to bring him home but Danny is scared he's never going to complete his search, he's mad because I've saddled him with a girl and he has no idea how he'll ever make it back up there where he now belongs. The Old One's cat, Marmalade, hisses at me each time I bring up the computer screen. I guess I'd better offer him some tuna delight before he sinks his teeth into my fingers clicking these keys.
Voices. Lacey, the traveling accountant, hears a tiny voice--one that belongs to a little girl wrapped in a sheet-covered package left in a vacant life--a voice begging me to find out what caused her to be there, left alone with tiny feet sticking out of a shroud. Sweeney, a ghost child, trying to make an old wrong right.
A woman in the Witness Protection Plan running again--with a wounded man beside her and a dead boss behind her.
Voices. Too many of them. And it's all my fault that I hear them. I created the people they belong to--and the only way I can shut those voices up is to do my job--share them with the reading world.
posted by Barb | 10:40 PM
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