A Self-Proclaimed Mercenary And His Cookies

*I created a teeny tiny play this time.

FADE IN.

INT. --Bonus Room

Tinkletoes sits in the bonus room. It is decorated for Christmas. Snow is falling outside.

Dramatic reading of Carp Fisher’s “Tinkletoes’ Christmas Mission.”

Narration by: Someone Really Cool.

Narration begins:

Tinkletoes looked at the list.

He saw the snow falling outside.

Tucking the list into his waist band...

...the self-proclaimed mercenary stood, rising to his full height.

A man on a mission.

He was present.

At the ready...

It was a mission like nothing that had come before.

This soldier was not in pursuit of the enemy, baked goods, lighted sabers...or other sci-fi toys.

(Tinkletoes looks at Narrator) : They’re not toys, they’re collectibles. Would you call a Bergara B-14 a toy?

(TP pops in dressed as Raggedy Ann): Rifles are party favors in Faerie. (giggling)

(Tinkletoes to TP): That doesn’t count.

TP: Does too!

Tinkletoes: Does not!

TP: Does Too!

Tinkletoes: Look, who’s wearin’ the boots here?

The faerie holds up one black booted foot.

Tinkletoes: You may be wearing some kind of boots but I’m the one wearin’ the combat boots and I say it doesn’t!

Narrator (To Tinkletoes): You do realize that you’re arguing with a faerie dressed up as a rag doll, don’t you?

Tinkletoes growls.

Narrator: I’d like to continue if that’s okay. I’m sorry if I upset you. It’s just well...I got excited. The cookies will be coming out of the oven soon.

Tinkletoes: Who’s baking?

Narrator: Aunt Purdy just whipped up some…

Tinkletoes: Without me?

Narrator: She was going to wait but Writer Lady pointed out that with it being December 21^st you might be gone for a while.

Tinkletoes: They’re making cookies? Without me?

Narrator (weakly): She mentioned making more.

Tinkletoes: When I get back?

Narrator: Yeah...um...sure.

Tinkletoes (raises brow): What kind?

Narrator: What?

Tinkletoes: What kind?

Narrator: Your favorite?

Tinkletoes: What’s my favorite?

Narrator: Choc…

Tinkletoes shakes head.

Narrator: Peanut b…

Tinkletoes shakes head.

Narrator: doodles?

Tinkletoes: Chocolate chip. I’m a chip man. But they wouldn’t be making my favorite cookies because it’s Christmas. They’d make those white cookies that get frosted and decorated with sprinkly things.

Narrator (nods): She’s making sugar cookies.

Tinkletoes (paces): They won’t be making more later. They never make more sugar cookies later. There is only one batch of sugar cookies at Christmas and it’s mine!

Narrator: But you’re Tinkletoes. The world famous self-proclaimed mercenary. A man on a mission and a soldier on a Christmas mission cannot give up. He cannot fail! In the name of Christmas the mission must prevail!

Tinkletoes (to Narrator): You’re right!

The self-proclaimed mercenary turns towards the kitchen.

Tinkletoes: It appears that my mission has changed.

FADE OUT.

Paths Down A Long Dark Road

 (Personal Essay)

 I see my old self in you. The sadness. The constant worry about the future. The unending need to prove to yourself that you can take care of yourself. That you are going to be okay. Let me tell you this now. I am using all caps for emphasis. Not because I’m yelling.

YOU ARE GOING TO BE OKAY.

You will. It doesn’t feel like it but you will. I have learned a lot over the last decade. Let me share with you what I’ve learned so your journey is easier.

You are surrounded by people who love you. That voice inside your head telling you how alone you are is lying. If you can’t see it then every day I want you to find one person that you know loves you and has your back. Each day look for a new person to add to the list. Write the list down and put it in a drawer or a box. Something that is hidden but close at hand. On the bad days take it out and read the list. Out loud. Remember these are the people who are there for you. They are also the ones who would miss you if you were gone.

There are stages of grief but you don’t go through them in any set order. It’s not like checking things off of a list. You don’t wake up one morning feel acceptance and bam! you’re done. You are going to move through the stages. In and out. Over and over for a long time. You may feel several in one day. You will have emotional days. Days full of difficult things that drain your energy and make you wish for simpler times.

There will be days that almost feel normal except when you remember that he or she is gone.

Some days will be sweet, happy, and spread out before you like buttercream over cake. Then you will feel guilty that you had that day because you aren’t supposed to have good times without him. The truth is that you are. You are supposed to have the good times, the funny times, and the crazy times. He loved you. He wouldn’t want you to die with his passing.

I spent a long time convinced that crying was showing weakness. Crying is not weakness in grief it is a testament to how much you loved. Something so beautiful cannot possibly be weak.

I can hear Dad now. “Have appropriate sadness because I was fuckin’ great. Keep going.”

I hear you Dad. I’m listening.

Keep going. Keep resting. You will start healing. Slowly it will get better.

Try not to make the same mistakes that I made. I realized this morning that I grieved for my late husband like he grieved for his wife from a previous marriage. He never let go of his grief. She was always in the forefront long after we were together.

After I had accepted losing him, grieving had become such a big part of my life that I kept grieving. For other things. Failed attempts at change, mistakes, perceived losses. A decade came and went and I was still grieving. Don’t do that. It does not make for a happy life.

As things change, as you learn to live in this new life you are building let yourself become uncomfortable again as you move away from the hurting. Don’t let living in grief become the forefront of your life. Don’t let it stay forever. Live with it not for it.

Don’t be afraid to change. To build something new. Be happy. Find joy again. Laugh all you want.

The events that took him from you are just a blip of the time that you had together. Remember all of it. It was beautiful.

Changing everything right away does not make the grieving process go faster. Just more complicated.

Loss of a loved one is a difficult journey. You can get through this. You will get through this.

Love yourself, trust your own instincts about change, if something feels like it has to be done right now you may be rushing things, take a step back and proceed a bit more slowly. You’ve got this. You really do.

Nightcap In The Library

The screen on Scotch’s cell phone lit up just as Pen was replacing the last book on the shelf.

How are things going? Are our friends still watching?

Pen read the message. “How long have I been in here?” She muttered. Pen picked up the fake novel and the phone and returned to Scotch’s bedroom. The spy-in-training quickly shoved the book into her purse before she made another appearance at the bedroom window.

The black SUV was still parked on the street outside. She noticed that the doors were closed and the windows had been rolled all the way up against the chill of early morning. The vehicle shook here and there which was consistent with three men of their “friends” size attempting to make themselves comfortable within a limited space. It looked like they would be staying for the night. Or what was left of it.

Pen moved out of view and sent a quick response of “yes” to Scotch. She returned to the hidden room and looked at it to make sure she had not left any tell tale signs that she had been in it. There was a button with a sign next to the room’s entry that read, “Headmaster’s Coming.” Pen retrieved a clean, dry cloth from the bathroom and pressed the button, keeping her fingers covered with the cloth to avoid leaving fingerprints. The door closed, as the room tucked itself away the wall lowered itself to the floor, the bed sliding back into place in front of it.

Pen checked the time on the phone. One corner of her mouth turned up in a smile. She wondered where she wanted to be when Scotch returned. Her told her to wait for him in the bedroom. Pen sat down on the edge of the bed. “There’s no way he’s going to believe that I’ve spent the entire time he was gone on such an uncomfortable bed.” She grabbed the robe that matched her nightgown out of the closet, heading back into the library she prepared to wait.

The bookcase door slid open in front of him, although it was completely dark Scotch knew that he was not alone in the room. The spy stepped forward slowly looking, listening, even smelling for anything unusual or different in the apartment. There was no movement or sound, but there was the faint scent of...he knew that smell. Scotch entered the room pushing the door back into place. He did not utter a single word. The only move he made was to the drink cabinet. Scotch poured himself a nightcap, enjoying that first sip. “Were you scared or did you just miss me?” He asked.

“Neither.” Pen answered.

“I told you to wait for me in the bedroom.”

He heard Pen slide along the leather of his couch. The lamp next to her clicked on. A dim light revealed his partner sitting on it wearing… Scotch blinked for a moment to refocus. Pen filled out the sheer nightgown superbly.

“I am not a child. I’m perfectly capable of choosing a safe place to wait.”

Scotch looked at Pen without replying.

“I couldn’t get comfortable. That bed is a torture device. How do you sleep?”

“A good spy can sleep anywhere.”

“I’m a chemist. Where do chemists sleep?”

Scotch raised a brow. He grinned for a moment and said, “Chemists sleep in the bedroom across the hall. It has a more comfortable mattress on it. As a spy you should have known that.” He took another sip of the amber liquid. “I’m sure that as a scientist you are used to following specific and dedicated instructions. There are probably good reasons for that. Spies can’t always follow instructions.”

Pen looked at Scotch. “Then why are you always quoting rules to me? And subheadings? Setting an example of following the instructions?”

“There are always exceptions to rules. There are always going to be unanticipated situations. There are going to be times that you are on a mission and the background information is out of date or one key bit of information is missing. You only discover it when you get out into the field. The only way you are going to be able to work through those problems if you are always looking around, taking in your surroundings, verifying the information you were given at the briefing, gathering new information. You are always on duty. You are always a spy.”

“Even with you?” Pen asked.

“When I leave you on your own yes.”

“That does not make any sense.” Pen pointed out.

“If you had done any searching on your own while I was gone you would have found the other bedroom and you wouldn’t still be awake in the wee hours of the morning. You are a terrible spy.”

“Where is this coming from?”

“You have to quit fumbling around. You have to focus Pen.”

Scotch was not planning on telling Pen anything. It would be much safer to keep her in the dark. McKinney's words haunted him. “Pen is a beginner, you are not. Everything is new to her; you know how everything is supposed to work. If you’re smart, you’ll use your differences to your advantage.”

It had been a long day and an even longer night, Pen had participated in all the fun that she could stand for one day. “If I’m such a terrible spy then maybe I should quit.”

“You can’t.” He said. "It's too dangerous."

*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Hidden In Plain Sight

“You’re losing people?” Scotch asked.

“At an alarming rate. So are the French, the Spanish, the Americans...”

“What about the Russians?”

One corner of Ursula’s mouth turned up revealing a rarely seen dimple, “Ask the Americans, if you can find a live one.”

Scotch thought back to his conversation with McKinney, it felt like it had taken place a lifetime ago, only a few hours had passed between that conversation and this one, “Who are the men in the SUV working for?”

“The one outside your apartment?”

Scotch nodded.

“I don’t recognize them. They must be independents.”

“You don’t know who they might be working for?”

“No. I don’t. The only thing that I can tell you is spies from agencies all over the world are dying and no one is taking responsibility.”

Ursula looked at Scotch waiting for a response.

He sat and waited for her to reveal her final piece of information.

“Have you noticed how none of the spies at your agency have died?”

Scotch remained quiet.

“Why is that? Perhaps it’s because your agency is responsible?”

“You chose to warn Pen.” Scotch pointed out.

“Because I knew that she would go to you and eventually you would come to me.”

“Isn’t that taking the long way around? What if Pen had been reassigned? What if I had been out of the country tonight? How many more employees might you have lost before we ran into each other?”

“I guess I got lucky.”

“You got lucky? There’s more to this Ursula. I’m going to find out. About everything.”

“I hope you do.” She responded, turning her attention to Fluffy. He was slumped in his chair, chewing on his cuticles looking bored. “Good help is getting more and more difficult to find.”

“Things just got very interesting.” Pen repeated to herself as she took in her surroundings.

The area housed a desk with several monitors displaying video surveillance of everything from the hallway outside of the apartment and the street below to Jeremy in 5J’s dog’s whereabouts. A comfortable looking wing back chair stood in the center of the room. A small table sat next to it. She settled herself into the chair and looked around the room.

“If I were Scotch where would I hide things?”

Pen continued studying the room, the dark walls and furniture. She looked down and admired the rug beneath her feet, ran her fingers along the black leather of the chair, took in the carved detail of the cherry table next to her. The furniture looked familiar. A bit too familiar. Pen turned and looked at the monitors. One displayed a view of Scotch’s library. The room she was sitting in was a smaller more simple version of the other room. It appeared that Scotch had intentionally put in the same room twice.

“If I were Scotch and I hid an entire room. I would hide sensitive information, anywhere I wanted.” Pen looked at the room from another perspective. “Knowing Scotch, I would hide it...in plain sight.” Her eyes stopped at the surface of the cherry table next to her and the paperback book. She picked it up greedily like a child who had successfully filched a cookie while Dad napped on the couch. “I would have had it whether I had found this room or not.” Pen quickly looked at the monitors, nothing had changed. She looked at the cover of the book, the chemist remembered looking at the synopsis of this movie when she was exploring Scotch’s references to James Bond and discounting the film as being too far from his references to be of any use in understanding him. Obviously, she had been wrong. It would be useful to do an Internet search to get more details but all she had was Scotch’s phone and she was sure that he would be able to quickly see everything she had done with the phone in his absence. It would be the same story with any equipment within the apartment. There was always the possibility of introducing herself to Jeremy in 5J and requesting use of his computer but explaining how looking up the details of a movie that’s nearly twenty years old in the wee hours of the morning is an emergency requiring he get out of bed and let a complete stranger into his home, suffice it to say Scotch would definitely find out about that one. Pen would have to rely on her own memory and hope that she remembered enough about the movie to help her navigate through her partner’s mind.

She started with the cover. Spy Game By Nathan Muir. The author name was not right. Nathan Muir. Nathan Muir. He was Redford’s character. It sounded like a Redford character. Pen flipped through the book. There was dialogue, narration, the names Bishop and Muir were both mentioned many times. The passages that she read did not stand out. Maybe a novelization of the film was released at some time. Without access to the Internet, Pen would have to confirm that later. Pen turned her attention to the back cover of the book. A website was listed above the ISBN number. Isleofskyepublishing.com. A website was of no use to Pen for the moment. She looked at the ISBN number. Something looked off.

Finally, something she could work with. The spy-in-training stepped out of the room and walked quickly into Scotch’s library. She turned on the light closest to Scotch’s bookshelves, pulled down a paperback book, and compared ISBN numbers.

“This book’s ISBN has ten digits on it. Spy Game’s ISBN has nine digits.”

She located another book and compared.

“Ten.”

Another book.

“Ten.”

Another.

Pen checked twenty books and compared them to Spy Game before concluding that her hypothesis was correct. The paperback in her hand held something Scotch had been hiding. The chemist was determined to find out what it was and what it had to do with the events that had been taking place.

*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Negligees, Hidden Rooms, and Private Conversations

The man that Scotch had thought was Duff turned his stool to face him. The new guy had dark hair and eyes similar to Duff’s. The man also had heavy jowls along with a weak chin as opposed Duff’s more defined facial features. The new guy was also pointing a gun at him.

Scotch listened for movement but didn’t hear anything coming from Fluffy’s direction. Either this was a delicate matter or Fluffy was such a newbie that he couldn’t be trusted with his own weapon. Scotch turned his head briefly. Fluffy’s already bloodless complexion had not paled nor did he appear jittery or anxious. Scotch looked for perspiration on the man’s forehead, another sign that he was in over his head. There was nothing.

Scotch rose from his seat slowly. He crossed to Ursula’s booth and sat down. “There are four of you here. Only two of you have weapons. Your newbie is on the job but not nervous so you must only be here to talk. From the imitate size of your group I am going to surmise that this a delicate matter.”

Ursula’s eyes brightened and one corner of her mouth turned up in a smile. “There are only three of us here Scotch. You must be losing your touch.”

Scotch leaned across the table and whispered, “There are four of you. Duff is hiding behind the counter. I can smell him from here.” He leaned back against the seat and continued. “Which also explains your new recruit being weaponless. You didn’t want to take the chance that gun fire would be exchanged, he would miss me and hit Duff instead. He must pull to the left when he shoots. Ergo, no gun for Fluffy.”

“Fluffy?” Ursula asked.

“When I first spotted him he was standing in a dog park.” Scotch turned around and called out to the man. “Have you checked your shoes lately? You probably stepped in something.”

“You’re the only one who’s stepped in something. Cheeky blighter.” Fluffy’s long legs allowed him to cross the diner quickly. Duff Look Alike a.k.a. Ursula’s Thug at the Counter had to hustle in order to block Fluffy’s path.

“Down boy.” Duff Look Alike said.

Ursula looked at Fluffy, “Lock the front door, sit back down, and be quiet if you want to get paid.”

“You said that you wired my bank with the money an hour ago.” Fluffy argued, looking stricken.

One corner of Ursula’s mouth turned up in a smile, “Lesson Number Three. If a client says that they are sending you the money before the job is done then they’re lying. Always check your bank account before leaving for work.”

“Lesson Three.” Scotch repeated. “How long ago did you bring him on?”

“Yesterday.” Ursula answered.

Scotch looked at Fluffy. “Three lessons in twenty-four hours? You are new at this.”

Fluffy glared at Scotch then at Ursula. He walked over to the front door, locked it, and sat down quietly looking uncomfortable.

“You and Duff cover the other doors.” She said to Duff Look Alike. “This is a private conversation.”

Scotch watched Ursula’s team as they made themselves scarce. He turned his attention back to her. “You used to be more discerning about who you hired.”

“I also used to be off the radar.” She countered. “Fewer people want to work with you when your long term employees keep turning up dead.”

Before Pen began her search she needed to see to it that the men in the black SUV downstairs stayed put and did not wander off. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and hoped she could pull this off. She had chosen something long, white, and silky with lace over the parts that benefit from being accentuated. At first she was concerned that choosing the most conservative looking item in the closet would not be sufficient. There were nighties of all kind in there. Everything from leather ensembles with matching whips to ruffled white and pink numbers with tiny aprons. After sifting through outfit number sixteen she wondered if Scotch had that many encounters or if it was just wishful thinking. “If I find a case of condoms somewhere it’s all in his head. Just like Aunt Serendipity and her collection of wedding veils.”

Pen took a deep breath and slowly eased her way into their visitors’ line of sight. Her calculated risk that leaving something to the imagination could be every bit as effective as showing everything was confirmed when one man hit his head on the outside of the vehicle. Another one had to have his hand stilled by the others before he could honk his approval. She mentally counted for sixty seconds and slowly backed out of the window to return to the task at hand.

Pen looked at the clock. Scotch had been gone for approximately thirty minutes. She anticipated that she had thirty to forty-five minutes to herself before chances increased that the men in the SUV outside would either call it a night or wonder if Scotch had taken another route outside the building and go looking for him. It was not much time to find what she was looking for.

She started with his drink cabinet finding nothing but alcohol and cut glass tumblers. The closets yielded little information as well. Much of Scotch’s money seemed to go into clothes and furnishings. Pen did appreciate his home library and wondered what it would be like to spend several days just exploring it.

There was nothing in the bathroom except a wide range of grooming products. “This is all impressive Scotch but where are you in all of this?” She commented. Pen checked the nightstands and found little more than the usual items including half read copies of both Chaucer and another book called Spy Game. She recognized the men on the cover. “That was a movie not a book.” Pen flipped through the paperback but did not know what she was looking for she eventually abandoned her search tossing it on to the bed.

“Now for the bed.” The first thing she noticed was the texture of the blankets. They were rough. The bed sheets weren’t much better. If the bed had been any harder it would have been made of nails. “This is out of character.” She whispered. Pen took a small flashlight from her handbag and began looking around the base of the bed. She laid down on the floor to take a look underneath but there was solid wood hiding behind its skirt. She began running her fingers along the wood anywhere they would fit.

“There you are.” She pushed a button, not knowing what was coming next, Pen stood up and got out of the way. The bed slid to the left and a section of the wall that had been concealed by the bed lifted. Lights came on revealing a well lit room.

“It looks like things just got interesting.” She said. She looked at the book she had abandoned minutes earlier, picking it up, Pen entered the hidden room.

*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Spy On The Town

Scotch stepped out of the alley two buildings to the south of his own apartment  and began walking down the street in the direction of central Soho and some of Duff’s favorite after hours hang-outs. Many places were closing up for the night, there were a few 24 hour diners, that would allow trusted customers to have a drink in a back room provided they brought their own bottle. Duff was a gentle soul who usually needed time alone with a bottle after completing one of Ursula’s errands.

The spy ignored the first odd sound that he heard as he cut across the night traffic closer to late night merry making. The street that he was headed for was still brightly lit and anyone who was following would have to slow their pace to avoid being seen. Scotch stopped and sat down in a bus stop enclosure to send a quick message on Pen’s phone asking if their friends were still outside. She confirmed that they were.

“It seems that I have another new friend.” Scotch muttered under his breath as he put the phone away. “What shall I do with you?” Scotch took a pack out of his pocket and removed a cigarette. He pretended to fiddle with it like someone who was trying to quit smoking and contemplated a quick drag just to take the edge off. It gave the agent a chance to look around and find out where his new friend was hiding.

It took two perusals but Scotch found the tail standing in the shadows underneath a broken streetlamp in what appeared to be a dog park approximately seventy-five feet to the northeast.

“Hello.” Scotch’s eyes brightened for a moment. “How about a walk, Fluffy.” The spy located the most populated, well lit street that he could find and proceeded to stop and talk to...everyone.

Scotch could hear Pen now, admonishing him for taking a dangerous route. But he needed to take stock of who he was up against and what better way is there to do that than to pull the stranger out into the open and watch what he does?

Pen paced the bedroom, looked at the clock sitting on nightstand and paced some more. “He’s doing something stupid.” She muttered. “He’s doing something stupid.”

The display screen on Scotch’s phone lit up as the phone vibrated from its spot on the bed. She picked it up. Scotch wanted to know if their visitors were still sitting outside. Pen walked to the window and looked down on to the street. The black SUV was still there, one of its passengers enjoying a cigarette as he stood on the other side of the street. Pen pulled back out of sight seconds before the man’s eyes found hers.

“Yes still here.” She typed. Good was the only response she received. I’m not just going to sit here and do nothing. There is no way I’m just going to sit here. “I could poke around a bit. I am supposed to be a spy after all. How would a spy get information from another spy? If I’m going to act like a spy I have to be aware of the other spies around me." She thought about the James Bond movies that she had been watching. 007 was never completely safe for more than a few hours at a time. The closer that he got to his answers the more dangerous things became. She looked around the room. He is so full of himself. He wouldn’t be afraid to leave something in here that was classified. Scotch is also not stupid. He would have a booby trap, an alarm, or another kind of fail safe in place. “The way things have been going lately, it would be something that he was keeping separate from the agency. Just in case. I need an explanation if someone comes in while I’m looking.” Pen crosses the bedroom to the closet and opens the door. Her eyes stop on something translucent hanging inside. “Or a distraction.” A corner of the chemist quickly turning into a spy-in-training’s lip curves up into a smile.

Scotch worked the crowd like a host at a party, making it a point to greet the men in a couple first to avoid any unexpected confrontations. On the other hand, starting a fight was always an excellent way to lose a tail as long as you chose your opponent carefully which might be useful later.

As anticipated Fluffy used this unexpected change as an opportunity to close the distance between them. When Scotch used the closed proximity to get a good look at him, Fluffy created a loud scuffle while trying to retreat into the shadows. After a few minutes, Scotch found him lurking in the shadow of a closed lingerie storefront looking a bit pale.

Fluffy is an unseasoned contractor or a newbie. Good.

Fluffy was also tall. Standing a good three inches above most of the men in the crowd. Now that Scotch knew his height and had a basic idea of how much experience his new friend had, the spy had an idea of how to manipulate the situation to his own end. If Scotch played this right he could allow Fluffy to feel a false sense of security and lead him down the primrose path that would end right where he wanted him.

The pair continued up the street and through the crowd, Scotch led him down a darker less populated side street. He wanted to find out what Fluffy’s instructions were. If he caught up with Scotch and attempted to corner him, Fluffy wasn’t just a tail he was something more. An unskilled something more but still something that could be dangerous later. Fluffy stayed back. Scotch smiled to himself as he continued on his mission to locate Duff.

Scotch found Duff at the second place he looked. Ginger’s was a restaurant that boasted authentic American cuisine. An insult to Scotch. The spy felt that the only thing that Americans seemed to know how to do with their food was to drowned it it salt, sugar, and grease. He listened for Fluffy’s entrance as he sat down at the table behind Duff and pretended to study the menu posted on the wall in front of him.

“What is Tex-Mex?” Scotch wondered out loud.

Duff lowered his glass, “A combination of Mexican and American food.”

He doesn’t recognize my voice. Good. “Is it spicy?” Scotch asked.

“Some of it.”

“Spicy food does terrible things to my insides, I don’t want that.”

“It’s pretty good.” Duff countered. “You should try it.”

“At this time of night? I’ll not get a wink of sleep.”

“What’s a wild man like you doing out this late?” Duff asked without turning around.

“Looking for adventure. My girl broke up with me last week. She said that I’m dull as dishwater.” Scotch confessed.

The clicking of a hammer being pulled back came from a darkened booth to Scotch’s left. When Fluffy entered the diner Scotch had heard him sit down to the far right. There were only one or two people that could have anticipated Scotch’s moves so well and gained the upper hand.

“Hello Ursula.”

  *This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter 4 Section II Subheading Three

“What are you doing?” Pen asked.

Scotch walked around the room pulling dark colored clothes out of the closet and a pair of cheap, dark sneakers out of a shoe box sitting inside.

Pen immediately recognized the ensemble. “Mission clothes?”

Scotch ignored the question and disappeared into the bathroom returning a few minutes later. “Our friends outside are looking for a man in gray dress pants and a matching coat, a white dress shirt and dark oxfords. My features are not remarkable. I look like at least five other men who live in this building. I’ll be using a different exit and wearing different clothes in case I run into one of them while they’re taking a smoke break. If you get a text on the phone from me that looks like a green light I need you to pull up Jeremy 5J out of Contacts and send him a text. Tell him that his dog has gotten out of the building again. It went out the front door.”

Pen looked at Scotch. She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“The text means that one or all of our friends are following me and I need a distraction. Jeremy looks just like me and his sudden appearance should redirect them. I’ve done this before.”

“What about Jeremy?” Pen asked.

“What about Jeremy.”

“Does he know that you do this? That you’re putting him in danger?”

“I checked in with him on previous occasions, he has never been aware of anything more than a strange feeling that he’s being watched. He has a black belt in Judo. Jeremy can get out of almost any scrape without much trouble."

 "He's a civilian." Pen countered.

 "So are you as you are so fond of reminding me. Our new friends are professionals. If you text him and Jeremy goes out, I can tell you what will happen. They will follow Jeremy, watch, realize that he’s looking for his lost dog, check their intel, verify that neither one of us owns a dog and return to their original spot outside this building.”

Pen began to argue and Scotch raised his index finger indicating that he was not done talking. “The only time that they might attempt to pick Jeremy up would be if someone had an interest in garnering a quick promotion or if they were instructed to pick him, I mean, me up.”

Scotch sat down on the edge of the bed to put on dark socks and shoes. He looked up to find Pen standing over him.

“I don’t like it.”

“What don’t you like?”

“Any of it. Me here tucked away like a child. Jeremy playing your stunt double.You going out alone when you’ve clearly been targeted.”

Scotch stood up giving Pen no choice but to take a step back.

“You’re worried about me.” He grinned. “I knew that somewhere underneath all that...you liked me.”

Pen glared at Scotch. “Even if I did like you, using Jeremy as a decoy stinks. You’re losing points with me with each passing minute.

“Agent Training Chapter 4 Section II Subheading Three: When things go wrong—Improvise. I’ve been doing this for a long time Pen and I’ve never lost a single decoy. Relax.” Scotch turns and walks towards the door with Pen on his heels. “Stay here. Make your appearance at the window and try to get some sleep. I’m locking everything up behind me. When I enter this room again it will be through the bookcase to the left of the fireplace. Upon entering, I plan on making a stop at my beloved drink cart for a quick belt.”

“That was detailed.”

“It is all the details you’ll be getting from me tonight Pen.” Scotch stopped in the doorway and turned back to face her. “Would you like to kiss me before I go?”

Pen reached up and closed the bedroom door leaving Scotch standing in his own darkened hallway.

“The lady says, ‘No’.” He whispered.

“It was a strong ‘No’!” Comes from the other side of the door.

Scotch grinned as he walked through the darkened hallway and into his mission.

 *This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Inside Scotch's Apartment

“What would you suggest?” Pen asked. “A kiss?”

“That would be an appropriate option.” Scotch agreed as he removed keys from the pocket of his jacket.

Pen did not respond for several moments. Scotch jiggled his keys.

“Are you afraid that you’re going to lose your audience?” Pen asked. She looked at the black SUV that had parked two doors down. “Whomever is in the SUV does not look like they are in a hurry to go.”

Scotch’s keys jiggled again.

“Very well.” Pen leaned in close as if to kiss Scotch and turned her head. She smiled, gave him peck on the cheek, and relieved the spy of his keys. Pen blocked the view from the SUV with her body while Scotch entered the security code on the building’s keypad. Pen entered the building with Scotch close behind. Both waited for the elevator door to close before they continued their conversation.

“That was a smooth trick you pulled outside.”

“I did what you asked.”

“A peck on the cheek?”

“A gesture showing our new friends that I am sorry but I have no interest in continuing the discussion in public. My taking the keys from your hand was a good indicator that your apartment is familiar to me and I have been here before on multiple occasions. It was a perfectly reasonable way to sell the needed scenario.”

“I have to admit that it is reassuring to know that while we’re alone in my apartment you won’t try to take advantage of me.”

“Of course not. That wouldn’t be professional.” Pen responded.

“No. You are always professional.”

“I am.” Feeling a bit impatient to exit the elevator and the conversation, Pen watched as the numbers above the doors lit up and darkened indicating that the next floor had been reached. Finally, Scotch’s floor, a semi-private one, had been reached. She exited the elevator and waited.

“Turn left.” Scotch instructed. “The door at the end of the hall.”

Pen stopped at the door and looked the keys in her hands, choosing the most likely candidate she pushed the key into the lock and turned it, opening the door. She was already standing in the foyer when Scotch caught up with her.

“A lady should always wait for a gentlemen to lead the way into his abode.” Scotch whispered.

“The same way a gentlemen should always wait to be invited into a lady’s domicile?” She asked, raising her brow.

“Touche, sweet Pen. Touche.”

As they walked into the apartment further Pen looked around, then looked at Scotch, and returned to the sight of the room in front of her. “There’s an awful lot of white in this room.”

“Sorry?”

“The furniture, the cushions, the rugs, etc… They all accentuate a base palette of white.”

“Did you picture an apartment full of dark walls, rich woods, old books, cognac, and leather wing back chairs sitting next to the hearth?”

Pen nodded.

“This way.” Scotch led Pen through the living room, dining room, and along a narrow hallway. “I hired a professional to do the decorating. My mother had to take a hand in it as well, she has become concerned about my future.”

“What is it that she wants for you? A spouse? Children?” Pen asked.

“Mum is not so unreasonable to expect that a man in my line of work might ever reproduce but she would like it if I had a steady special friend that was presentable on formal occasions.”

One corner of Pen’s mouth turned up in a smile.

Scotch continued. “I insisted that the master bedroom and one other room be decorated to my taste and mine alone.” Scotch stopped at a door near the end of the hall and opened it. “It appears that my interior preferences are too dark and traditional to attract a woman into my life.”

Pen peered inside. There it was. A nice sized room with dark paneled walls, book lined shelves, ornate richly colored rugs and a large fireplace with a pair of black leather wing back chairs sitting in front of the hearth. “You had it right Pen. Almost exactly right. Except for the drink.” Scotch crossed the room to a waist high cabinet and opened the doors to reveal a set of decanters, all holding liquids in various shades of amber. "The finest scotches in the world all at my disposal.”

Pen cleared her throat and pointed to a small decanter set on a lower shelf holding a liquid with a decidedly reddish brown tint to it. “What is that?”

“Cognac. My brother stops by from time to time during the winter for a bit of peace and quiet. His club opened up the bar to women on the night that he normally goes out. He finds the way that men act around women tiresome at times. I told him that he could stop by here for a drink when needed to. He detests scotch.”

Pen nodded.

“Drink?” He asked. Pen shook her head. Scotch closed the cabinet and continued the tour. Opening a set of polished wood doors, Pen followed him into the master bedroom. The master bedroom was a larger room with an antique four poster bed, a fireplace, and dark polished wood. Touches of burgundy were in everything from the bedding, and rugs to the heavy drapes that covered the windows.

“As you can see the doors open to the study, turning this master bedroom into a richly masculine suite.” Scotch narrated.

“You are full of surprises, yet strangely enough, I have to say that this room is perfectly you sir.”

“With spy touches included for additional security. Your job until I return is to stay here.”

“Where are you going?”

Scotch ignored the question. “The bathroom is through that door. There are extra toiletries available. The closet to your right has lady’s clothing should you want to change. I keep snacks in the drink cabinet below the cognac. Get some sleep.”

“What will you be doing?”

Scotch looked out the window to the street below to verify that their new friends were still watching. “Do me a favor? Put on one of the negligees and right before you turn in for the night, stand in the window where are friends can see you.”

Pen looked at Scotch.

“It will sell the whole ‘lovers in secret’ story line. The pictures will probably keep them busy for an hour or two at least.”

“You’re going out to do whatever it is that you’re doing while I’m locked up in here like some newbie that can’t handle themselves?”

Scotch crossed the room and stood next to Pen. “No. You are here to keep them busy. If they're busy I can do what I need to without anyone getting killed. You are my insurance policy.”

 *This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Hunting For Pheasant

Scotch looked at Pen. “You’re dressed.”

“Dressing is one what one typically does when one’s had an intruder.”

“So much for Plan A.” He looked around the kitchen. Scotch reached out and lifted the bag from Pen’s kitchen can. “We’ll go with Plan B. Do you have your keys?”

Pen tapped at her left leg pocket and felt her keys. “Yes.”

“Lock the door behind you. It’s time to rustle a few bushes and see how many pheasant come flying out. How do we get out?”

The pair step out into the empty hallway. Pen pointed to a darkened stairwell at the far end.

“The agency cleared this?” Scotch asked as they made their way down the stairs.

“The light bulbs need replacing.” She said as they exited the building. “It’s going to be fixed on Monday.”

“How long has it been that way?”

“Three weeks.”

“Three weeks?” Scotch repeated and shook his head. “Why didn’t the agency move your approval to move in date back until after the repair had been made? It’s standard protocol. Anyone could have been hiding in here, monitoring your comings and goings this entire time. If he or she timed it right no one would have known that they were here.”

“They could exit the building undetected.” Pen added.

Scotch nodded.

“Like we just did.” She pointed out. “Sometimes dark stairwells are a good thing. Considering my reputation as a scientist, perhaps the agency trusts me to show enough common sense to stay out of darkened stairwells.”

Scotch pointed to a row of garbage bins lined up like palace guards. Pen nodded. Scotch quickly disposed of his prop. A dark blue car rolled by and parked at the opposite end of the block. He watched as the door did not open, there was no movement indicating that the driver would be exiting the vehicle during the next few minutes.

“Have you seen that car before?” He asked.

“Yes or one like it. Nearly every day.”

“At this time of night?”

“It varies. There are several people in this neighborhood with similar cars. It seemed highly plausible that whomever it is reside somewhere nearby. I’ve had no reason to question...”

“The hallmark of a good spy is that they blend in to the point that no one has a reason to question their presence. No one has reason to suspect that they do not belong in their surroundings. No one would ever suspect that they are, in fact, a spy. This is what I believe your law enforcement people like to call ‘something that does not look right’. That car parking at the far end of the block in the middle of the night, making no indication that they are exiting the car right after there has been a household trespass a few doors down does not look right.” Scotch’s teeth gleam pearly white in the darkness. “We have located Pheasant Number One my dear Pen.”

“What do you want to do?” Pen asked.

“I’m thinking.” Scotch took Pen by the hand as they crossed the street in front of the parked car. “When I say ‘Now’ look at the license plate.” Scotch instructed. “Now.”

Pen quickly looked at the plate on the car then raised her eyes to smile at the person sitting behind the wheel. She looked at Scotch, they smiled at each other.

Scotch guided Pen into an alley down the next block. “Using the note app on the phone type in the plate number for the car.” He said as he typed something into Pen’s phone.

“That’s strange.” She said. “The phone is asking if I want to ‘send.’”

“Choose ‘Save for later’ and then ‘Send in ten minutes’ under the drop down menu.” He said as he finished his own note. Scotch guided Pen back out of the alley.

“Do we continue walking?”

“Yes. For about twenty minutes.”

“Then what?”

“I’m taking you home with me.”

Pen stopped walking. “What? Why?”

“I have a plan. It will all go smoothly if you come back to my place with me.”

“Why do I feel like I’ve heard this line before?”

“You probably have but not in this context.” He attempted to continue Pen on their way.

She refused to budge.

“Still not moving, eh?”

“Do you have a problem with the word ‘No’?”

“Not usually. Although I do have to admit that it is not a word I hear often. When was the last time that a woman said ‘No’ to me, 2005? 2001? 1997?”

“This isn’t a game Scotch.”

“1994? Yes. It was 1994. I was new to the agency and still learning my way about.”

Pen shook her head. “Where are you going with this?” She demanded.

“Not to the bedroom, obviously.” He said. “Keep walking with me. If we stop moving anyone who’s watching will notice that something is wrong and we’ll lose any chance that we have at gaining an edge.”

“You’re trying to sell a hook-up story right?”

“That is the idea darling.” He answered with a grin.

Pen reached up and slapped Scotch. “We stopped walking because we are having a lover’s quarrel. Problem solved.” She looked around the empty street and she continued on her own.

“What did you do that for?” Scotch asked catching up with her.

“You said that you were worried about the fact that we were standing still driving off potential followers, slapping you indicates that we are probably arguing, which we are, thereby quickly alleviating any concerns your fellow spies might have.”

Both Scotch and Pen watched as a black SUV passed them traveling in the opposite direction and heard tires screech as it made a u-turn. The pair quickened their pace. Scotch walked ahead of Pen, turned to face her, then stopped, blocking her path.

“This is me.” He said. Scotch gestured to the building they stood in front of with a nod of his head. “The fake fight was a good idea, you forgot one thing. Now that we’ve had a fight we need to make up.”

Pen raised a brow.

“It’s the only way to justify you entering the building with me.” He grinned.

Fan Letter

The moment that Scotch exited the living room Pen went in the other direction. She returned to her bedroom and with a flip of the light switch she began counting.

“One.” Pen shut the door.

“Two.” She retrieved clean panties from a stack of clothes that had been neatly laid out on a chair and put them on.

“Three.” Bra was secured into place.

“Four.” Blouse pulled overhead and smoothed out.

“Five.” Pants put on.

“Six.” Pen snatched a stun gun and her keys off of the top of her dresser and opened the door, heading back through the living room and into the kitchen. She found Scotch standing next to her stove. He was looking at an apple that had been placed in on its center between the burners. The apple had been impaled with one of Pen’s cooking knives. A piece of paper was attached.

“What is it?” Pen asked.

“It’s for you. A fan letter.”

Pen looked a Scotch questioningly. He looked around the small kitchenette, spotting her dish washing gloves, he put them on and gently slid the apple to Pen so she could inspect it.

The note attached to the apple read: The Agency is not what you think it is. BEWARE.--U.

“Who is ‘U’?”

“Is that how you Americans speak? It’s no wonder your country is looking the way that it is these days.” Scotch teased. After a silence he gave a real answer. “Ursula. She was with The Agency once upon a time.” One side of his mouth turned up for a brief moment.

“You are fond of her?”

“I was...until I wasn’t.”

Scotch looked away. Pen watched as his eyes panned the room—across the stove, along the floor, to the refrigerator. They traveled along the counter and past the window. His gaze stopped at the door leading out of the flat. “It was Duff,” he announced.

“Duff?”

“Ursula sent Duff to deliver her message. He has a bit of a glandular problem and can be quite fragrant. Duff, being self-conscious, has tried using various colognes in an effort to mask his scent. The cologne only makes things worse.”

“You smelled him in here?”

“I had to work a stake-out with Ursula once, she brought Duff along. Our hiding spot was cramped and there was not much of an opportunity to get fresh air. Duff’s scent is a bit like cannabis, once you’ve smelled it up close and personal it’s an odor that you never forget.” He took off the gloves and tossed them into the sink.

“Doesn’t that make him a terrible choice for this type of work?”

“Ursula and Duff go back all the way to primary school. He does odd jobs for Ursula here and there. As I already said he is self-conscious about his glandular problem. He prefers to be non-confrontational.”

“You smelled him.” Pen said. “You smelled him and said something to bring attention to the fact that you knew someone was in the apartment with us encouraging him to make a quick get away. Brilliant.”

“I always have been. You’ve seen my profile at the agency.”

Pen raised an eyebrow.

“It’s actually an old trick. It works on great on school buddies who sneak into your dorm room to pull a prank.”

Pen went into the living room and returned with her phone. She began typing a text message.

“What are you doing?”

“Contacting Corporate. There are strict directives in place regarding residential break-ins of agents regardless of the circumstances.”

Scotch removed the phone from Pen’s hand and deleted her message. He took her phone, handing her his own. “Stay here.” He said and proceeded to leave. Scotch stopped moving when he felt her hand on his arm.

“I need my phone.”

“No you don’t, you have my phone.”

“All of my important numbers are in there.”

“All of your contacts with Corporate are in there too. The last thing that we need is for you to contact Corporate at the moment.”

“Corporate directives were crafted and put into place to keep all agents safe from harm.” Pen quoted.

“They were also put into place to ensure that said agents were under the agency’s control at all times.” Scotch thought for a moment and made a difficult decision. “You were right when you said that finding our targets already neutralized was a sign that something is wrong. I am right about there being something unusual going on at the agency, McKinney confirmed that for me tonight.”

“What’s going on?” Pen asked.

“He won’t share any specifics.” Scotch looked at the stove, gesturing towards the impaled apple and the note with a nod of his head. “Now Ursula has jumped into the mix.”

“That makes it even more imperative to check in with Corporate.” Pen countered.

Scotch shook his head. “Something is amiss. We cannot identify who the enemy is until we know who all of the players are.”

“Are you suggesting that it would be best to know where the parties involved are going with these deaths before contacting Corporate?”

“And who the responsible parties are.” Scotch said.

“It sounds like we have a bit of a mystery to solve.”

“The Spies Who Solved A Mystery. It sounds a bit like the title of a B movie.”

“Spy stories are actually a sub-genre of mysteries and thrillers.” Pen pointed out as Scotch opened the kitchen door leading to a back hallway.

“Then come along Dr. Watson, the game is afoot!” Scotch grinned as he ventured out into the empty hallway.

 *This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Late Night Pen

As she stepped out of the shower Pen breathed a sigh of relief. She smiled to herself as she looked at her reflection in the freshly cleared mirror and whispered, “I out spied the spy.” She wrapped herself in a bathrobe and wondered at her accomplishment. As she toweled the remaining water from her hair, she took time to reflect closely on her perceived victory.

Me following a spy without being seen. She let that thought sit in her mind. He’s one of the best spies in Europe, according to some one of the best in the world. He had to know that I was there. I would have to be some kind of a jerk not to think that he didn’t know. If I were him and I knew that I was being followed… “He’s going to gloat and then he’s going to boast. Scotch is going to make sure I know that he caught me watching him and he’s going to gloat.”

Pen picked up her dirty clothes and put them in the hamper, hanging her towel to dry, she exited the bathroom muttering to herself, “I have to have a plan. I have to get ready.”

“Get ready for what?” A familiar voice asked.

Pen reached for the wall switch and turned on the light. She found Scotch sitting in front of her on her sofa with one of her juice tumblers in one hand. It held an amber colored liquid.

“Do you want to know what your biggest mistake was?” He asked. Scotch drained the remainder of the glass slowly, Pen was not sure if it was because he was enjoying the nightcap or relishing stringing things out...for emphasis. “You stopped following too quickly. You didn’t know where I was going next. I could have met with a new contact. I could have been picked up by a kidnapper.”

“Or you could have been on your way to the off licence.” Pen offered, studying the level of liquid in the freshly opened bottle sitting on the coffee table.

“Touche.” Scotch studied Pen for a moment. “You don’t have to worry, I hold my liquor quite well.”

Pen sat down in a nearby chair. “You would have to wouldn’t you? Being a spy.”

“It’s not one of the requirements but it does come in handy.”

Several moments of silence pass between them.

“What was it?” Pen asked.

“Sorry?”

“What gave me away?”

“How did I know that you were following me?”

Pen nodded.

“When two people work together for a period of time they develop an intuition that identifies the other party’s own unique energy.”

“You could feel my presence?” Pen asked. “Like a Jedi or something?”

“I do believe that Jedi are knights with special powers.” Scotch countered with a devilish grin. He contemplated refilling his glass, deciding against it, he set it down on the coffee table.

“That sounds New Age. Not like you at all.”

“You don’t believe in those things?” He asked.

“No.”

A glint came to Scotch’s eye. “You never told your Mum a fib and ran off to a carnival to have your fortune told as a girl. Never played a game looking for a prediction as to whom you would grow up to marry?”

“Growing up and marrying the perfect man and having the perfect life are antiquated idealistic fallacies that have no place in real life.”

“Spoken like a disappointed teen.”

Pen took a moment before speaking. She turned the table on Scotch determined not to take the bait. “As I said before, such beliefs don’t sound like you either.”

“I didn’t believe in such ideas then I met a woman.”

“Of course there had to be a woman.”

“Of course.” Scotch agreed. “I was in Istanbul. I had finished a mission in Saudi Arabia and I was taking a couple of days rest before returning home. I had stopped for a bite to eat and was headed back to my lodgings when a woman stopped in front of me. She said, “It is good to see that you arrived safely. Welcome home.”

“Then what happened.”

“She smiled and moved so I could be on my way. The next day I saw her in the marketplace, I stopped her and asked what she meant. She laughed and said ‘What do you think I meant? Welcome Home.’ I pointed out that I am British and reassured her that never in my lifetime had called Turkey my home. She nodded and said, ‘No you have not but your energy has. So has mine.’ Then she continued on her way.

“And?”

“And?” Scotch repeated. “That’s it.”

“You never saw her again?” Pen asked.

“I never did.”

Pen studied Scotch. “You made that up. You don’t want to answer the question.”

Scotch reached for his bottle. Pen got to it first.

“Your disguise. That’s what gave you away. Your disguise.”

Pen surrendered the bottle.

“What was wrong with my disguise?”

“You were wearing one of the security guards' leather jackets, it was two sizes too big. It looked ridiculous.”

“I was supposed to be a successful woman out for a stroll who just happened to be wearing her boyfriend’s jacket.”

“Do successful women out for strolls also stop and turn the other way when the people in front of them stop walking?”

“There was a bit of foot traffic. I was blending in.”

“Was there a crowd behind the tree planted just inside the gates to the park as well?”

Pen looked at the floor.

“Until I have taught you a little more about trailing a target, stick to your poisons.”

She looked up at Scotch.

“On one condition. This is the end of your gloating.”

“Gloating? Is that what I was doing?” He asked with a grin.

“You were.”

Scotch righted the bottle mid pour and set it down. He started to lift the tumbler to his lips then stopped. The agent smelled the visitor before he heard him. He continued the conversation with Pen before she had a chance to bring attention to his change in demeanor. “This is not the agency’s usual recommended housing.”

“No. I stayed in the agency building for a bit, when I found this place I applied to the agency for approval to move.”

“It was deemed safe then?”

“I followed all of the outlined directives. Two agency specialists inspected it. One before and one after I moved in and had television and internet service set up. Why?”

“I thought I heard something.”

A faint sound came from the direction of the kitchen. A corner of Scotch’s mouth turned up. Some tricks never get old. He stood and retrieved a bat from the far corner of the room. “Stay here.” He ordered.

*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Quirks In Your Characters

Personal struggles. The challenges that you have just because you are you can be a daily struggle but they also make your writing better.

Did I write that? That is so dry. Let’s make this more interesting.

The more that I talk about writing the more of myself I find myself sharing. Is it good? Is it bad? I don’t know. The one thing I do know is that I have shared this story before. A lot. It’s basically public knowledge at this point. Let me share it one more time.

When I was a little girl a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away. Just kidding. When I was a little girl my parents along with a lot of other adults told me that I could be whatever I wanted to be when I grew up. One of the things I wanted to do was...now I’m a little bit embarrassed, but it was a really cool thing to be in the 70's. Seriously. I’m not kidding. It was cool damnit! I wanted to be an entertainer and not any entertainer. I wanted my own show. Like Sonny and Cher. Captain and Tennille. Donny and Marie. Except no Donny. Just me because I’ve always been a rebel that way. I was really into myself back then because...you know, Four. It’s basically a four year old's job to be all about themselves. You are never going to see how wonderful a little kid is they if don’t tell you how great they are. Repeatedly. Trust me, they are convinced of this. Adults do not have the mental faculties to remember such things.

You have to admit, it’s really cute when they do that.

Some time during the mid 70's, I decided that if I was going to be this entertainer when I grew up it was time to get started already. I was going to perform in my own little concert. I spent days convincing my mother to let me do this. I invited people to the show. I made tickets and gave them out. My sister and her friend helped me pick out a dress. We picked out a song for me to sing along with the record player. (If you don’t know what a record player is ask someone who looks old.) I practiced. And then, finally the moment came. I walked out into the living room in my dress, ruffled socks, dress shoes, and freshly coiffed hair, I waited for the music to start, looked at all of those people smiling and looking at me. I froze. I promptly ran into the bedroom that I shared with my older sisters and cried. A lot. Even though my mother insisted that I dry my tears and go back into the living room and sing the song, running into bedroom at first panic was the wrong thing to do. It set a precedent and to this day when it comes to doing something big, difficult, or anything that is deeply important to me, I tend to freeze. It is like a wall appears in front of me, one that only I can see. I have to stop. Right where I am. Wherever I am.

Things did get better over time. It was less of a problem when my husband was alive because regardless of his opinion on the situation he always had my back. After he passed it became a problem again, not a big one, but it can stop me from doing things that are deeply important to me. This isn’t my diary. I do have a point. Although, I’m beginning to wonder if these stories should all be published under a column called “I Do Have A Point,” “We’re Going To Get There..Eventually," or "Taking The Loooooong Way Around."

Here’s my point, as a writer these issues can be a gift. It can be a useful tool to take a tiny little piece of yourself, a quirk, a phobia, or a struggle and give it to one of your characters. It makes them more complex and draws the reader in.

The reader may have a similar problem or know someone who does. Or your character might remind them of a family member or an old friend. Quirks, phobias, and difficulties give the character more depth and helps your reader suspend disbelief. As a result, you have a much better chance of keeping the reader’s attention.

How does this pertain to me?

A few years ago, I became an amazing singer. 

Just kidding.

A few years ago I was able to use my previous life goal to my advantage. I fictionalized that little girl who was going to grow up to be an amazing entertainer. The character that I created, Gracie Sanders, is prettier, more talented, and is a lot more confident than I ever was. She found her home in a script for a web series called, “Surviving Winter.” It doesn’t have a home yet. It will. Some day. I think that she’s happy there. I know that I am. I’m a much better writer than I ever would have been as a Marie.

(Waves) Goodnight Everybody.