Interview With Your Favorite Inner Writers

What kind of story is worthy of a storyteller? Where can one possibly go? I contemplate these questions as I sit here in front of my laptop. Cursor blinking. Word processor waiting for me to start the show. Giving a story to a storyteller has to be one of the most intimidating endeavors out there. The phrase, “What was I thinking?” is playing repeatedly in my mind as I sit here.

The cursor keeps blinking. It’s taunting me. Help. Suggestions? Anyone?

Should there be dragons, elves, and ogres? Or dead bodies and brilliant sleuths? “The Six Pack Ab Murders?” She does like a bit of comedy but isn’t always a fan of spoofs. I’ll have to save the abs for later.

Is this stuff rhyming? My goodness, the poetry is beginning to leak in everywhere.

TP is one of her favorite characters maybe I should start there. She likes Toni Johnson too. Maybe Toni should read this to her. A video blog? That’s an idea.

Miss Jenny says, “Seventy-five is quite an accomplishment. It should be enjoyed and celebrated.”

Toni Johnson responds, “Thanks Miss Jenny. This isn’t your birthday. Ain’t nobody looking at you.” Toni rolls her eyes.

TP high fives Toni Johnson then sticks out his tongue at Miss Jenny.

Toni Johnson looks at TP, “I thought you liked her.”

“She refused to climb into my gilded cage. No fun.”

“I know baby. You’ll get your woman next time.”

“May I interest you in a gilded cage?” TP asks. The faerie points to the open door of a large golden cage.

“No. That was a nice try baby. We’re kind of busy here. Can we move this along?”

 Ray enters the room. “Dudes, let’s have a karaoke night.”

“No. Save that for your birthday”.

“My birthday is over.”

“What a shame.” Miss Jenny looks at Ray sympathetically.

Toni Johnson looks at Miss Jenny, “Don’t do it. I’ve heard him sing. Dogs will find guns and shoot themselves to avoid listening to him.”

“You can’t really mean that.”

“Do you remember all those dead dogs they found around town last summer?” Toni asks. “Ray had a karaoke machine that week.”

Miss Jenny looks at Ray, “Maybe next year.”

“Problem solved.” TP announces as he takes a bow.

“‘Cuse me.” Toni Johnson says, “It is still Grandma’s seventy-fifth birthday and we need a blog. A special blog.”

TP shakes his head.

Toni Johnson asks, “We don’t need a blog?”

The faerie says, “I have an idea.” TP covers his mouth with both hands and tries to look innocent. “When I get done, Grandma is going to feel special. Very special.”

“You’re not going to do anything with that cage thing are you?”

TP shakes his head.

“Okay. Then it looks like you have the floor.”

The faerie waves one hand over his head as if waving a lasso, the bonus room empties, the decor changes. Two wing back black leather chairs sit next to each other in front of a fireplace that appears to have been placed between two large trees in the middle of a forest. A coffee table with mugs sitting on it is positioned in between the two chairs.

Multi-colored lights spin about the room as a voice announces, “Tonight on Inner Writer Interviews we welcome two inner writers whose humanly forms coexist within the same bloodline. Please welcome Writer Lady and Grandma!”

Writer Lady’s inner writer appears on the left she is dressed in a pair of worn blue jeans, a snarky t-shirt, and moccasins. Her eyes look tired and her hand shakes a little from too much coffee.

Grandma’s inner writer appears in the chair on the right. She’s well groomed, dressed comfortably, and is wearing a smile.

Pixies, faeries, and magical creatures sit in the audience alternately looking at the inner writers curiously and applauding.

“Now here’s your host: TP!”

The audience applauds, shouting out compliments, and screaming.

TP appears dressed in a well cut suit similar to that of Jimmy Kimmel.

TP pops into my peripheral vision and whispers in my ear.

I look at TP. “Not Jimmy Kimmel? John Wick?” (Shakes head) John Wick is not a talk show host. He’s an assassin.

TP continues whispering.

“Yes, John Wick in his suit is hotter than Jimmy Kimmel in his suit but he’s still not a talk show host.”

“He could be.” TP says.

“He could be?” I ask.

“Where?”

“In Faerie.”

“And he would be talking about what?”

TP runs his hand across the air as he answers, “Fifty Shades of Grief: What To Do When Your Doggy Dies.”

I run my hand down my face.“I cannot believe that you just said that.”

TP shrugs.

I think for a minute, “How about...he is dressed in a well cut suit and looks more handsome than any other talk show host?”

TP half nods.

“Way hotter than any human talk show host.”

The faerie makes a face.

“Seriously, that’s as good as it gets. Let’s get back to the story.”

TP goes back to his starting position in front of the audience. The faerie pulls out his Talk Show Host Voice. “Welcome everyone. Tonight we have a very special show for you. These are the inner writers of Writer Lady and Grandma. What makes them special is that their inner writers are so different but they are actually related.”

The crowd gasps and looks more closely.

“It’s true these two inner writer’s hosts are mother and daughter.”

A collective “Wow” fills the forest.

“It’s time to get to know, Writer Lady and Grandma.”

“This is an in-depth interview. Most of our guests say that they learn things about themselves that they never knew.”

Both inner writers nod as they listen. Writer Lady takes something out of her pocket and begins chewing on it. Remembering her manners she pulls another one out of her pocket and offers it to Grandma. Grandma shakes her head.

“What is it?” Grandma whispers. “Chocolate? A raisin?”

“Coffee bean. I ran out of the ground stuff a couple of days ago. It’s the only coffee I have in the house.” Writer Lady chews making a face.

“Why don’t you grind them up?”

Writer Lady’s Inner Writer waits for more information.

“That bean is what ground coffee is made from.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ll have to try that when I get home. Or um...Writer Lady will have to try that.”

TP looks at his guests. “Are you ladies ready to get started?”

Both nod.

“Here are your three questions.”

“Wait a minute.” Writer Lady whispers to Grandma, “Did he just say three questions?” She asks.

Grandma nods.

“Three questions? I got yanked out of my body while I was planning the greatest mystery never before written to answer three questions?”

“It looks like it.” Grandma says, “Remember, every story has already been written before dear.”

“There is already a brilliant mystery out there with wild witch and wizard sex in it?”

“Why are you writing a book that depicts witches and wizards having wild sex in it?”

“Because it’s never been written.”

“Who would like to go first?” TP asks.

Writer Lady raises her hand and Grandma points to Writer Lady.

“Which means Grandma is our first to answer Question 1. Question number one. Plotter or pantser?”

“Plotter.” Grandma answers.

“Pantser.” Writer Lady responds.

“Complete opposites on the first question ladies and gentlemen, amazing. The first question leads us to the second question. Second Question. When you are writing how closely do you follow the sequence of events, in other words, do you write in a straight line?”

“Yes.” Grandma says. “I prefer to.”

“Writer Lady?”

Writer Lady shakes her head. “No. I write what is ready to be written when it’s ready to be written. If I finish chapter three and I am not ready to write chapter four but I have a scene for chapter six up here.” She says, pointing to her temple. “Then the scene for chapter six is getting written. You have to wander around in the world that you’ve created. Learn things about it. It makes a better story.”

“With a messy edit.” Grandma says.

“Okay. For the third and final question, how would you, the inner writer describe your imagination to someone? What does it look like? Grandma.”

“My imagination is like a well that has images drawn from it.” Grandma answers.

“My imagination looks like a group of circus performers at a rave.” Writer Lady says.

“Wow. That would be something wouldn’t it?” TP says. He returns to his audience. “See folks. Two very different writers yet both from the same bloodline. Not only that but closely related.

“Amazing!” A pixie calls from the audience.

“Incredible.” Another voice exclaims.

Writer Lady makes a face. “What’s so amazing about it? These things don’t happen in Faerie?”

TP says, “No my dear lady. When relatives are that different it is because of evil curses not um...what is it you humans call it?”

“Nature?”

“You humans develop in a manner that’s completely random. In Faerie everything that is born is born for a reason. A clear one.”

Writer Lady points to a tree in the distance. “The fish climbing that tree has antlers on it. Why was that created?”

“So when you came to Faerie you could see it and ask about it silly.”

TP announces to the audience, “We would like to congratulate Grandma on her seventy-five years as a human. You are a most amazing author for a human. We would love to have you back soon for a visit.”

Grandma says, “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
“We’ll have you for dinner.” TP says with a giggle.

“Why does that scare that me?” Writer Lady mutters.

Happy Seventy-Fifth Birthday Mom!

Please don’t go back to Faerie without an escort (looks at TP) or two.

Nineteen And Nine

“I’m sure that it did.” Scotch responded.

“You were saying?” Mr. McLeod prompted turning back to Pen.

“The target was dead when we arrived. That is unusual. Isn’t it?” Pen asked.

“It is slightly atypical. Keep in mind that the targets are not on our list for neutralization because they are good people.”

“They’ve all done bad things?” Pen asked.

“Yes of course.”

“People who do bad things typically have numerous enemies. So it wouldn’t be completely unusual.” She agreed.

“It’s not.” Mr. McLeod agreed. “We are the best, typically we do get to them first.” Mr. McLeod looked at Scotch. “Isn’t that right Scotch?”

Scotch closed his open mouth quickly. It was like his supervisor had been abducted by aliens and replaced with someone who was completely unflappable. “Yes.” He agreed.

Mr. McLeod stood and held out a hand to Pen. He cradled her hand in his own for several moments. “Thank you so much for bringing this incident to my attention. I hope that I was able to alleviate your concerns.”

“Yes. Thank you sir.”

Scotch looked at Pen and rose from his seat. Taking the cue, she stood as well. Scotch guided her from the conference room. “I told you that nothing was wrong. Do you believe me now?” He never heard a response, only saw her nod in his peripheral vision. Scotch hurried Pen to the offices upstairs. The sooner he saw her leave, the sooner he could settle in and get to work.

Scotch re-entered the office the following afternoon. He perused the room to find that the issues from the day before had been resolved. Nothing new sat on his desk. Pen’s desk was neat as usual but untouched since she left earlier that morning. He looked around the room more slowly. No sign of Pen. No sign of any activity related to Pen either. Scotch stopped one of the other special consultants. “Have you seen Pen?”

She smiled and pointed down. “She’s been in the lab for hours.”

Scotch nodded and headed below ground. He found her in the chemistry lab. She was wearing the standard lab coat, gloves, safety goggles and mask over her clothes. Scotch grabbed a mask upon entering and held it over his mouth and nose. He watched as she carefully placed her sample into a dish. He waited as she finished what she was doing.

She looked at her lab mate. “Note that the poison is still testing as active twenty minutes postmortem. Adjustment to formula unsuccessful.”

The lab mate nodded to her. “I’m sure you’ll get it right the next time.” She encouraged.

“I hope so. I won’t be allowed in this lab much longer if I don’t prove my worth.” Pen countered. She turned and looked at Scotch. “Hello.” From the lilt in her voice Scotch guessed that Pen was smiling.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“Adjustment 24 to my perfect poison.”

“Perfect Poison?”

“I have been working on a poison that kills a rodent or pest immediately but dissipates on contact when certain postmortem chemicals are detected.”

Scotch waits for Pen to speak English.

“This poison detects enzymes that are released after the animal has died. The poison reacts to these postmortem enzymes by losing its toxicity.”

“So it only works as long as whatever ingested it is still alive then it begins to break down?” Scotch asked.

“It is for rodent control. I invented it so the family pet wouldn’t die if the animal ate a rodent that did not die of natural causes. The side effect is...”

“...after the poison begins to break down it can no longer be detected by standard toxicity tests.” Scotch said finishing her thought.

“Until this has been finished and is in use for several years...let’s just say that this is going to be untraceable to the rest of the world for a while.” Pen added.

“Which is why Corporate brought you in.”

“It was why they told me they brought me in. They wanted me to finish developing it so I could develop a test for detecting it. In an effort to protect their people.”

“Did they tell you that they really loved Spot and Fluffy too?” Scotch asked grinning.

“You don’t think I’m that naive do you?” Pen shook her head. “I would have seen the ‘We Love Animals’ song and dance coming from a mile away. What are you doing here?”

“I work here.” Scotch said. “Spy, remember?”

“As you keep saying. What are you doing in the chemistry lab?”

“Looking for you.”

“You found me.” Pen cleaned up her mess and headed in the direction of the exit. She removed her gloves, mask, and goggles, placing them in their proper receptacles.

Scotch followed suit.

“I’m glad that you found me. I have something to say to you. Nineteen.”

“Nineteen what?”

“Nineteen bodies. In 1983’s “Never Say Never Again” starring Sean Connery there were nineteen bodies. Four agents went down, fourteen died, and one was diverted.”

“Weren’t there more?”

“There were nine more but the first nine weren’t really killed. It was a training exercise.”

“Wow.”

“What?” Pen asked.

“I didn’t think that you’d actually watch a James Bond movie and count the bodies.”

“I wish I hadn’t. There were a lot of dead agents.” Pen stopped and looked Scotch. “You said that people do that. They watch James Bond movies and count the bodies.”

Scotch’s brown eyes warmed and the spy grinned.

“You were lying?”

“A spy has to be good at lying. Don’t feel bad. I have had a lot of practice.”

“I can’t believe that you made feel like I wasn’t a professional because I had never watched a James Bond movie much less counted the bodies.”

Scotch continued to grin.

“You are so macabre.”

“Says the woman who formulates new poisons when she should be sleeping.”

“I slept.” Pen argued then yawned. “Chemistry is an art. You have to work on it when inspiration strikes.”

“That’s what a notebook on the nightstand is for. To write things down. That way you work with a clear head.”

Bryan, Mr. McLeod's assistant stopped the pair on the way to their desks, “Speaking of clear heads. Thanks for staying late and getting your reports in so quickly.” Bryan looked at Scotch. “You have got to stop sleeping at your desk. There were three rows of random letters running along the bottom of your forms. That’s the second time this month. What were you still doing here at four-thirty in the morning? You came back into headquarters at one a.m.”

Scotch paled and shifted a bit. “I was working on something.”

*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.