Writer Lady's Day Off Part 2

 

“Kids don’t always understand what they’re wishing for,” she says as she dances up to a fireplace mantel across the room from where she started.

“They know a lot about fun.”

“Not everything.” Writer Lady counters. “Besides your idea of what’s fun changes as you do.” She says as she does the splits. She comments, “That’s going to hurt tomorrow,” as she returns to a standing position. “Can we do something else now?”

The lights dim and a faster song begins playing in the background as Writer Lady finishes wrapping the ball of her foot with some kind of tape. She’s dressed in black from the top of her dance wear to her leg warmers except for her tights which are brightly colored and have freakishly big flowers on them. TP is dressed in jeans and a tank. The faerie is sitting behind a TP sized synthesizer. A brown pit bull terrier looks at Writer Lady adoringly from across the…

“Warehouse? What are we doing in a warehouse?”

“Apartment. It’s a warehouse apartment Sweetie.” Carp’s voice is heard coming from somewhere. “It was stylish and hip for the time. Just close your eyes, listen to the music and…”

“Go away!” TP calls out. “TP’s in charge today!”

“Lord help us all.” Carp says, slamming a magical door as he leaves.

“Maniac” by Michael Sembello begins playing.

Just a steel town girl on a Saturday night…TP sings freakishly well.

Writer Lady begins having her own personal Flashdance moment. “I always wished I could dance like this. I feel so...limber.” Sweat begins raining on arms and shoulders. Hair sticks to her forehead. “Where did all this curly brown hair come from?”

TP ignores her and keeps playing.

She keeps dancing. Her body won’t stop moving. She’s tried stopping seriously. It’s just not working.

The music fades as the song comes to an end.

“Fun?” TP asks.

“Fun.” Writer Lady looks at the faerie, “Is my butt supposed to be this sore?” She looks at TP. “I need a break.” Writer Lady feels herself being pulled to yet another location. She lands in a meadow full of wildflowers. Tall green grass is interspersed with a sea of vibrant reds, yellows purples and blues. She’s now wearing a day dress reminiscent of medieval times. A white gown with a skirt that falls just above her bare ankles with flowing sleeves. An embroidered corset and wreath of flowers with ribbons hanging down her back completes the ensemble.

Better.

She looks at her companions. A white unicorn, a black bear and a mountain lion. An owl rides along on the mountain lion’s back. TP appears fluttering next to her shoulder.

“This is boring, what’s next?” He asks.

“It’s been fun so far. But I need a little bit of time. I just got here, let me savor the moment.”

“TP needs something to do,” the faerie announces fluttering back and forth busily.

“How far are we from a town or a village?” Writer Lady says.

He shrugs.

“Finding out would give you something to do.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“Why not?”

“You told me to. It’s not fun anymore.”

“I’m sorry about that TP, what would be fun for you?”

“Roasting giant marshmallow men. Making lots of smores!”

Writer Lady shakes her head.

“TP going to find something to do.”

“Okay. You do that.” Writer Lady looks at her companions and continues her walk wondering how she got so lucky.

“This walking through a meadow stuff is fun but is this all we’re going to do? TP said there’d be dragons and stuff,” comes from the black bear’s general vicinity.

“Really?” Writer Lady asks.

“Yeah and panthers. I kinda got a thing for panthers.” The mountain lion comments.

“Apparently one only has so much control over one’s own adventure even on a day off.”

“You can’t control everything. If you control everything it’s not an adventure,” the unicorn points out.

“I suppose.”

“What is the purpose your journey?” The tiny owl asks in his high voice.

“Fun.” Writer Lady says.

“What is fun?”

“Hmm...how to define it. Fun is doing something just for amusement. For the enjoyment of it.”

“You’re not doing something to feed yourself or to find shelter?” The bear asks.

“No.”

“Or to maintain territorial lines.” The mountain lion asks.

“No.”

“Or to gain knowledge?” The tiny owl asks.

Writer Lady shakes her head.

“To spread magic?” The unicorn asks.

“Just because it’s fun.”

“I think I should very much like to see this thing called fun.” The mountain lion says.

“You all live in Faerie, don’t you have fun all the time?”

“Don’t we have fun all the time?” The unicorn asks.

“It depends on who you are and where in Faerie you’re currently residing. Being in Faerie doesn’t always guarantee a good time.” The black bear says.

“It does help to have some new blood.” The mountain lion says. “Will you show us some of this fun?”

“I’m sure Faerie fun is a bit different than Earth fun. I’ve lost my way a bit when it comes to Earth fun.”

“Show us your idea of fun.”

Writer Lady’s cheeks turn a soft pink. “That’s the problem, I’m no sure I know what fun is anymore.”

TP appears on the unicorn’s head. The faerie sings as he dances around the creature’s horn. “Time to do something big!”

Writer Lady becomes conscious of the song that had been playing in the back of her mind. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“That’s not what your brain said. We just want to have fun!” The faerie calls.

Extremely familiar music begins to play in the background.

TP spins around. When he stops spinning he’s wearing a brightly colored strapless dress with a full skirt trimmed in gold. He has bright orange hair and is wearing heavy dangly earrings. TP flies over to Writer Lady and flutters in front of her. “Does the woman of the day want to play in the video or join the parade?”

Her brow furrows as she remembers Cyndi Lauper’s iconic video. “I don’t remember a parade. There was a conga line at one point but no parade.”

“Are you sure about that?” He asks. “Bueller.” TP says giggling.

“Bueller.” The bear repeats as if he’s trying the new word out.

“Bueller.” The tiny owl says.

“Bueller?” Writer Lady says as she recalls what TP is referring to. “No. I am not doing that.”

“It’s okay TP will make it way better.”

The opening notes of “Girls Just Want To Have Fun,” plays in the background.

A Writer Lady size dust devil appears at her feet and begins working its way up the length of her body. When it disappears she looks just like TP.

Writer Lady's Day Off Part 1

 

Writer Lady stretches in bed as she opens her eyes. Raising her arm she looks at her hand, the hilt of Excalibur rests in her palm. Unable to believe what she’s seeing she closes her eyes, when she opens them Excalibur is gone.

Writer Lady sighs and gets out of bed. Another day of job hunting lies in front of her. More time spent trying to convince a bot she has something valuable to contribute. Unfortunately for her bots don’t read fiction. After using the bathroom and brushing her teeth she looks at herself in the mirror. Today is it. Today I’m going to apply for the job that is going to be my next job. She practices her friendly and enthusiastic new employee smile. The grimace that results looks so much like she’s auditioning for a laxative commercial she gives up. Maybe the smile will have returned by tomorrow. Finding her favorite jeans and a t-shirt that reads, “I am smiling” she gets dressed and shuffles into High Command to start her day. She tenses when a pair of hands grab her shoulders – a familiar voice says “Not so fast lady.” Writer Lady turns to face Tinkletoes and says, “The coffee is already made, it’s in the pot.”

“I’m not here to ask for coffee.” The self-proclaimed mercenary says her around to face him. “You’ve been spending too much of your time trying to find a new job. You aren’t even taking the weekends off anymore are you?”

“I’m still off most of the weekend.”

“That’s not the same.” Tinkletoes counters as he guides her into the living room. “We’ve been talking and as much as we appreciate your dedication to finding new employment we all agree you need a day off, not less time job hunting or a break from skill development but a real day off.”

“No cooking.” Aunt Purdy says.

“No cleaning.” Peter, Paige, and Dylan add.

“No running to the store for my cheese puffs...or candy bars...snack cakes...fruit leather...potato chips…” Ray says. “...p..”

Tinkletoes’ hand covers Ray’s mouth, a very muffled pizza can still be heard emerging from behind the insomniac’s lips.

“No skill building.” Diomedes says.

“No job hunting.” Tinkletoes announces.

“You can only have fun.” TP giggles.

“It’s only one day Mom, we’ll be fine.” Dobby says.

The Honky-Tonk piano notes from “Old Time Rock And Roll” by Bob Seger plays in the background, ending as suddenly as it began.

“Welcome to your day off!” House calls making the windows rattle.

“That was a lot of enthusiasm.” Writer Lady observes.

“We’re kinda payin’ her.” Tinkletoes admits.

Writer Lady nods.

“Here’s your bag.” Carp says as he holds up her purse.

“Paige and I filled a tote bag with your favorite things.” Aunt Purdy says, holding the bag out.

“Thank you.”

“Coffee.” Tinkletoes holds a large go mug up with the name Bueller printed across the front of it.

Writer Lady leaves the house. The door closes behind her. She stands in her driveway wondering what to do next. After a few minutes she gets into her car setting out to spend some time at the farm.

“No workee workee!” TP’s voice comes pouring out of her stereo.

The car begins sounding like its been possessed before abruptly dying. She tries starting the car again. Nothing. Writer Lady picks up her phone to call for a mechanic.

“The car only died because of what you tried, it’ll be fine by tomorrow silly human.” TP giggles disappearing in a puff of smoke.

“I’m supposed to have a day off without being in my house or driving my car. Farm work is a great big No. If I can’t go anywhere and I can’t stay home what’s left?” she asks before resting her head against the seat and closing her eyes. The singing begins.

Come with me and you’ll be in a world of pure imagination. Take a look and you’ll see into your imagination.

Writer Lady opens her eyes. Gene Wilder sits in her passenger seat dressed as Willie Wonka. It’s not his voice that’s singing, the voice is a higher pitched giggly one that’s all to familiar.

“Very funny TP.”

Writer Lady reaches out. TP’s magic falls away as she touches Gene/Willie’s arm. A demon appears in his place.

“Did TP put you up to this?”

The demon’s eyes grow wide with fear. “Daemon wanted to help.”

“Thank you Daemon. You can go back inside the house now.”

He nods and gets out of the car. A door to the house appears next to the car shielding the demon from curious neighbors’ eyes. Daemon waves at her before disappearing inside.

“TP?!”

“Writer Lady’s angry, TP’s not coming out.”

“Writer Lady’s also stubborn. I’m not getting out of this car until we’ve had a talk.”

“Uh oh.”

“If I’m not supposed to stay home and I can’t take my car where am I supposed to go on my day off?”

“Anywhere you want.”

“I can’t use my car!”

“Walking?”

“I can’t walk anywhere that’s fun.”

“We didn’t think about that part.”

Writer Lady’s face has not yet softened. “It’s time to think about it!”

“TP might be able to help. What is fun for Writer Lady?”

She lowers her head and sighs before responding, “I really don’t know anymore. I never relax enough to find out. In order to have fun a lot of things in my world would have to change.”

Want to change the world...there’s nothing to it, plays through Writer Lady’s car speakers.

“If only it were that simple.”

TP appears and sits down on the dash of her car. He’s dressed up like Willy Wonka. “It could be,” the faerie says. “TP knows a game. Writer Lady remembers having fun. Whatever pops into Writer Lady’s head is what we’ll do now.”

“Whatever pops into my head...that sounds familiar. I saw that in a movie once and in that movie there was a giant marshmallow man.” She looks at TP. “There is no way I’m fighting a giant marshmallow man and if I was I wouldn’t be doing it here.”

“Okey dokey.” TP says. “Let’s go!”

There are two flashes of light as they disappear leaving Writer Lady’s car empty. Writer Lady opens her eyes and takes in her surroundings. Feeling cold she looks down and sees a pair of white crew socks on her feet. She’s wearing a pair of white dance shorts and tank top under a white dress shirt with burgundy pin striping and a turned up collar. She looks down and behind as far as she can to confirm her backside is appropriately covered. The opening of a well known song rings out on the piano as she slides across a wooden floor stopping to face and empty living room. TP follows in the exact same outfit.

“How did this happen?” She asks as she begins lip syncing to “Old Time Rock And Roll” by Bob Seger.

“Sometime when you were a kid you thought doing this would be fun.” TP says.

As Long As The Demon Doesn't Come Down With It Everything Will Be Okay

 

Carp looks at Writer Lady.

“It could be worse.” She offers. “If Daemon had come down with this it would have been worse.” 

“You’re forgetting one small detail.” Carp says. “The demon doesn't carry live ammo.”

“Daemon has really big horns. Pointy ones.”

“Tinkletoes has smoke bombs and hand grenades. Really Big Guns.” Carp counters.

“Daemon is really big.”

Carp turns from the self-proclaimed mercenary to Writer Lady wondering if something that lame is all she's got.

“He's big enough that he could do some serious damage to House.” She says in an attempt to expand her argument.

“I keep trying to think back,” Tinkletoes continues, “to the moment when I started messing my life up. Was it when I left the military, went into business for myself, was it further back?” Tinkletoes asks looking at Writer Lady and Carp. “When I was in school, I didn't always want to eat the vegetables on my lunch tray. Smelt always had potato chips and a cupcake in his lunch. My grandma was one of the lunch ladies so I always got my lunch at school. Grandma never let me have any chips or sweets, if I complained about it she’d give me extra vegetables.”

Neither respond with a kind word or sympathy.

“That woman cannot cook a vegetable.”

Still nothing.

“If I didn't see her at work in the lunch room I'd trade lunches with Smelts.” He confessed. “He really believed if he ate the vegetables he’d never be shoved into another locker again.

“How is trading lunches in grade school taking the wrong road in life?” Writer Lady asks.

Tinkletoes turns, looking pointedly at her.

“What?” She asks. “Is it a woman's responsibility to tell a man what's wrong with him?”

“Sometimes others can see what you can't.” Tinkletoes offers.

“He's right.” Carp admits.

Writer Lady steps away from Tinkletoes, turns and stares at the room in front of her.

Carp follows, “Are you okay?”

“He's looking for me to give him information. Not just information but guidance. This is serious.” She says.

“As I was saying.”

Tinkletoes picks his narrative back up. “I've devoted my life to fighting for the good guys. When I saw the extent of the threat to mankind from both Ninja Zombies and space aliens…”

TP pops into the room just outside Tinkletoes’ line of sight and begins playing a sad tune on a tiny violin.

“I not only entered the fight…”

The violin continues playing by itself as the faerie holds up a sign that reads: We've Heard It All Before.

Tinkletoes continues, “...I took command...”

“Because he can't stand not being the center of attention.” House whispers.

Writer Lady hears several beeps and the sound of Tinkletoes’ words faintly echo throughout the rest of the house.

“...leading my fellow soldiers to victory time and time again.”

TP holds up another sign that reads. It Was Literally One Weekend.

“Here I am sitting alone…”

“Dude… you're never alone.” Ray says walking into the bonus room.

“He's right.” Carp admits.

“There are five of us so far.” Writer Lady points out.

“And more are coming.” Ray offers.

A faraway look comes to the self-proclaimed mercenary's eye. Tinkletoes is a very important dude with a speech to give and no one is going to change his narrative… not yet anyway. “...wondering if these last few years have had any meaning at all.”

“Space aliens have abducted Tinkletoes and replaced him with something with a brain.” House says. Alarm sounds go off throughout the house. “Activating space alien attack force field, scanning for unidentifiable life forms. Raise security level to DEFCON 2.”

Writer Lady looks at the ceiling, she steps away from Tinkletoes and the friends who have surrounded him. “House, we’re in the midst of an anxiety epidemic. Would you mind leaving your cruel comments at home?” Writer Lady says.

“I am the home therefore I don't have one. Nice try.”

Writer Lady holds her temper, “Behave or I'm not power washing you next weekend.”

“No facial scrub?” House asks in a worried tone.

“No facial scrub.”

“Fine. I wasn't having that much fun anyway. Come on TP.”

Writer Lady runs her index finger down the length of her other index finger several times shaming TP. The faerie blows a raspberry back at her before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

Ray, Carp, Dobby, the kittens, the kids, and Aunt Purdy all surround Tinkletoes. Several voices call out, offering help and asking what could be done to make him feel better. Writer Lady hears everything being offered up from washing his truck and cleaning his field gear to rearranging his weapons in alphabetical order and his ammo by size for easy access.

“I don't believe it.” Writer Lady mutters, “A woman gets anxiety and we're weak or have hormone issues or something. A child, a man or an enchanted being gets anxiety and everyone comes to help.”

“No but thanks,” could be heard coming from Tinkletoes.

People wish him well before going back to what they were doing leaving Carp and Writer Lady alone with the self-proclaimed mercenary.

“Are you sure there isn't anything we can do to help you feel better?” Carp presses.

“There may be one thing. I ran out of cupcakes a couple of days ago.” Tinkletoes says before looking at Writer Lady.

Writer Lady’s neutral expression quickly goes dark. “No. Not today.”

“It's going to make him feel better.” Carp says.

“Query letter! We're on a deadline! One that you gave me.”

“Deadlines/ guidelines it's all the same.”

“Not really.”

“We'll make an exception. Just for today.”

“I don't think it's a good idea to make an exception. This whole process is painful enough without stringing things out.”

“But you've already made so much progress.”

“I have other projects I need to be working on if I'm not working on the query letter.”

“You're helping a friend. Sweet treats make everyone feel better.” Carp says with a smile.

“Sweets are a short-term solution to a much bigger problem.”

“We can't find the source of the fire if we don't put out the flames blocking the front door.” The assassin-in-training offers.

“It's over 100° outside!” Writer Lady counters.

“That's just the heat index. It’s not really that hot.”

Writer Lady sighs, “What am I baking?” She asks.

“I'm not sure what I feel like.” Tinkletoes says. “If I could just get an assortment: Vanilla with a cream filling, Red velvet, Black velvet, Dark chocolate mint, and some of those Salted Caramel ones with the bacon on top.”

Writer Lady stomps into the kitchen and begins working, slamming everything that can be.

“See, all fixed.” Carp says looking at Tinkletoes, “You should get some rest.”

“A nap does sound pretty good," the self-proclaimed mercenary admits.

Carp heads for the kitchen. Retrieving a soda from the refrigerator he turns to Writer Lady.

“Remind me again why Tinkletoes having anxiety is better," she says.

“If Tinkletoes recovers from the anxiety it won’t spread and Daemon won't get it.”

“As long as the demon doesn't come down with it everything will be okay.” She says.

Anxious Tough Guys

 

Writer Lady steps into the hallway with Carp following close behind her. She continues down the hall, checking the bedrooms first. “House show me Dobby's room.” She calls to the ceiling. A door appears in front of her with a sign on it that reads: Real tough guys only. No Posers Allowed. Spots and Smudge this means you. A bright orange paw print signifies the end of the ginger tabby’s message. Writer Lady reaches out for the doorknob grabbing it. TP’s voice fills the hall. “No Touchie Touchie! Only the secret Tough Guy knock will allow entry.” She turns to Carp who shrugs.

“Don't look at me, I don't know anything about this.”

“Aren't assassins supposed to be tough guys?” Writer lady asks.

Carp puts his hands to his chest, the assassin-in-training responds, “I'll have you know that I have yet to give a target so much as a hangnail,” correcting her. “I did manage to put an arrow into my former literary agent’s boss’ back tire. Of course I was aiming for my ex-agent's new Timmy Chews at the time.”

“Don't assassins kill people?”

Carp rolls his eyes, “The Timmy Chews were from a special collection of highly sought after ultrahigh heels on the market for a limited time. Each pair had its own registration number. How many times do I have to keep telling people this?” He asks.

“What would a Tough Guy knock be…”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Writer Lady thinks for a bit. “This is my house.” She says before banging on Dobby's door with her fist.

“We keep telling you Daemon the answer’s 'No.' You're not mean enough to be a tough guy.” Dobby says opening the door.

Writer Lady and Carp look at each other.

“A demon from a place so deeply lodged in Hell that the only way inside is located at the base of Faerie’s most dangerous volcano isn't mean enough to be a tough guy?” She asks.

“He is a bit of a marshmallow.” Carp points out.

“He was the only one to remember me on Mother's Day.” Writer Lady admits turning to Dobby.

“Didn't he just give you a big box of tissues?” Carp asks.

“There were flowers on the outside of the box. He didn't know they weren't real.”

“Lame.” The ginger tabby says.

“A lame gift is better than not being acknowledged at all.”

“Sorry Mom.”

Writer Lady looks at Dobby with her most disapproving expression. “Apologies mean nothing...” she says.

“...unless I change my behavior.” Dobby says finishing Writer Lady's sentence.

“I do listen.” He says. “Part of the time.”

The sound of explosions and rapid fire can be heard in the background. Dobby comes closer stepping into the hallway closing the door nearly all the way, placing himself squarely between Writer Lady and the inside of his room.

“Who do you have in there?” she asks.

“Peter, Dylan, Ray...Diomedes might come later if he's not feeling as nervous he's been lately. The game was too stimulating for him the other day. All the usual people, what's up?” Dobby asks.

“The anxiety alarm has been going off. Carp and I are both fine so we're trying to figure out who’s triggering it. Does anyone in there with you seem well… jittery?”

“No. We're all fine.”

“Are you sure there's no one in there that seems to...I don't know...be taking losing a little too personally?”

“No Mom we're having a great time.”

More sounds of rapid fire and explosions go off behind the ginger tabby.

“Dude your plan totally worked. You got to come see what happened.” Ray’s voice calls out. "Hurry man.”

Dobby turns his head in the direction of the sounds coming from his room.

“If you notice anything strange..”

Dobby turns back to Writer Lady and nods.

“We're resuming in five…” Ray calls. “Four…”

The ginger tabby looks behind him and turns back to Writer Lady.

“Anyone a little nervous? Having random outbursts…”

Dobby looks at Writer Lady.

Three... can be heard from the other side of the door.

“This anxiety seems to hit creatures very suddenly without warning.”

“Yeah.”

“Call me if you see anything.”

“Okay Mom I've got it.” Dobby says closing the door.

Writer Lady and Carp stand in the hallway as the sounds of Halo commences in the distance.

“Did he seem anxious to you?” Writer Lady asks.

“Not at all, the gamers seem to be okay. If you want to get that query letter wrapped up today we need to get going.”

“House.” Writer Lady calls to the ceiling, “Show us the kittens. Art on the walls surrounding the pair fades and new art appears as Writer Lady and Carp find themselves at the opposite end of the hall, in front of Aunt Purdy's door. A cheerful wreath of flowers marks the entry to Aunt Purdy’s room. Sounds coming from the other side of the door are softer than the sounds that had been coming from the other side of Dobby's. Carp knocks on the door. It opens within seconds, Aunt Purdy stands on the other side of the entry, she is smiling.

“Hello.”

“Hello.” Carp says, mirroring her greeting.

“I was wondering how you're feeling.” Writer Lady says.

Aunt Purdy thinks for a moment. “As we all know I'm not the same as I used to be. I have to admit that I’m feeling more relaxed than have felt in recent weeks. The herbal teas, music, and meditations are helping.”

Writer Lady and Carp smile.

“Not to mention the changes in diet, increased exercise, and being more mindful of what I watch and read.” Aunt Purdy continues. “They say this time of life is like a woman's second spring, it's more like spring cleaning if you ask me. The only way to get through it is to clear away your bad habits. All of them.”

Writer Lady reaches out and hugs Aunt Purdy. “We can't go through menopause for you, but we're all with you.”

“Don't forget what comes after spring cleaning.” Carp says.

Aunt Purdy and Writer Lady look at Carp waiting for more information.

“Redecorating!” He sings. “I'm not just talking about home décor, your body is doing new things so you can have a whole new look, I mean everywhere girl.”

And Purdy's lips turn up ever so slightly showing no indication whether she's up for making big changes or not kind of like the woman in the Mona Lisa, only happier.

“You heard the alarms?” Writer Lady asks.

“I did.”

“We're just checking on everyone making sure everything is okay.”

“I have quite a group of visitors today would you like to come and take a look?” Aunt Purdy asks before leading Writer Lady and Carp into her room.

Spots, Smudge, Furnatche, Paige and Daemon are all inside. Paige is blowing catnip bubbles for the animals as Daemon watches. The kittens watch the bubbles float along thoughtfully, anticipating where the bubble might go then quietly yet efficiently popping it with their claws. The baby dragon goes after the bubbles with greater enthusiasm, there's lots of jumping and happy yipping sounds. It’s an idyllic scene versus what had been transpiring in recent days.

“That was easy.” Carp observes as the pair leave Aunt Purdy's room.

“A little too easy.” Writer Lady counters.

“Pixie One is resting in her room. Diomedes is getting better but returning to his room when he feels overstimulated. TP and Pixie Too haven't been here for weeks so it's not them.”

The anxiety alarm goes off again.

“Someone's triggering it right now.” Writer Lady observes. “Who? Everyone's been accounted for. House, can you tell where the anxiety is coming from?” Writer Lady asks.

“Coordinates of anxiety outbursts are 8.6.75.309.” House responds in a monotone.

“Where is that?” Carp asks.

“How the hell should I know! Where do you think you are, in a Sci-Fi movie?” House responds.

Writer Lady rolls her eyes, “Thanks House.”

“Don't mention it.”

A thumping sound comes from the other side of the house. Writer Lady turns her head in the direction of the sound. There's another thump, this one is louder than the first.

Writer Lady and Carp take off in the direction of the sound. The writer and assassin-in-training stop in the entry to the bonus room. Tinkletoes is sitting next to the carport door. The self-proclaimed mercenary is sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, his knees are tucked in close against his torso like a child struggling to feel safe. Tinkletoes slowly bangs the back of his head against the wall. “Have you ever wondered,” the self-proclaimed mercenary asks. “what the meaning of a mercenary’s life actually is? Have you ever wondered why you're here. If lighted sabers, semi-automatics, and fancy cupcakes is all there is. Have you ever asked yourself if you're wasting your life?”

Query Letters and Anxiety Alerts With An Assassin-In-Training

 

Writer Lady sits down in High Command and closes her eyes as her breathing settles into a rhythmic pattern and slows to something calmer. She listens to the house and all who dwell within it. First, she listens for Daemon, a muffled cry of fear, screams of frustration, sounds of a demon thrashing about breaking things. Of course the last time that happened she heard lots of grunts, groans, and cries for help from House herself. Daemon was seemingly unaffected by the anxiety that was spreading, they were safe, for the time being anyway.

Relaxing a bit she returns to the source of her current torture, her query letter. After looking around the room a few dozen times. she's hit with a spark of inspiration. Confident no one else is doing what she's thinking of, she completes a new query letter in a matter of minutes. “Yay.” She whispers as she finishes typing.

“I heard that.” Carp says as he enters High Command. “Finally getting that query written?”

“Yes. All finished.” Writer Lady announces with a wide grin.

“May I read it?”

“Please do.” The Assassin-In-Training stands behind the Big Writing Chair and begins reading. “Uh-huh.. uh-huh..” Carp laughs and points to the second paragraph before continuing to read and say uh huh. He turns to Writer Lady after he finishes reading. “You're going to have to write a new one.” He says.

Writer Lady drops her forehead to the surface of her desk in defeat. After a few beats she raises her head and turns to Carp. “You said that the first query letter was too boring. It didn't capture the essence of my novel. You said the second query letter showed no imagination.”

He nodded.

“This captures the feeling of the story and shows lots of imagination. It's practically dripping with it.”

“Too much. If there was any more going on I'd feel like I was trapped in a chocolate factory with Willy Wonka. Try again.”

“Why?!” Writer Lady asks. “Whatever happened to ‘an agent will accept a query written in crayon if it’s a great book?’”

“You haven't made your book sound that good.” He says. “The agent needs to feel like they’re about to embark on a journey with someone who can talk about their work intelligently and in an interesting manner with the general public.” Carp thinks for a minute, “They want to know you can talk to Oprah about your novel and get her interested in your work.”

“You used to be a novelist, you've read my book, would you write it...”

“...for you? No Sweetie, good query letters are a skill that you need to learn. Besides, if I wrote your query they would recognize me and run for the hills. Trust me you don’t want my stamp on this.”

Writer Lady sighs, “I wasn't asking you to do my work for me, I was hoping you could do it with me. Sit down next to me, show me where I'm going wrong as I'm doing it, point me in the right direction so it's not so painful and I have a firmer foundation when it's time to write the next query letter.” She looks at Carp beseechingly. “Please? I won't let myself start another book until I finish this query letter and I was supposed to start the new book three weeks ago.”

“You and your silly rules.” Carp responds. “I'll sit with you. It’s your letter, you have to do all the heavy lifting.”

“I'm expecting to.”

“Open a new document.” Carp instructs.

As the pair type, Writer Lady and Carp argue then discuss which leads back to arguing.

Anxiety alert. Anxiety alert! Sirens go off inside High Command complete with warning light flashing. Writer Lady and Carp stop working and look at each other.

“Stop!” Writer Lady calls.

The light on the wall next to the closet door stops flashing. The alarm sounds cease. The pair listen and wait for the sound of a panic attack in progress. They hear nothing.

“I don't hear anything.” Carp says.

“The alarm must be wrong. If there was another case of anxiety in this house, trust me, we would have heard it.” Writer Lady says.

The pair return to the query letter.

Anxiety alert! Anxiety alert!

The light goes off again, both Carp and Writer Lady jump.

“Stop!” Writer Lady calls.

The alarm shuts down. They listen and hear nothing.

She looks at Carp. “Are you feeling anxious?”

“About?” He asked, gesturing to the computer monitor. “No Sweetie, I used to write these in my sleep. Are you?”

“I was more anxious about query writing hours ago and I wasn't tripping the alarms. It's not me.” Writer Lady turns towards the entry to High Command. “I think we should do a walk-through.” She says as she rises from her chair.