Spilled Milk

[Day 4 of 365]:

I started this writing session feeling grumpy, gloomy, and more than a little tired.  However I am definitely enjoying the initial feelings of momentum and inspiration from having a new writing goal and that I get closer to it each and every day.  It’s obviously a little early to be celebrating, but it’s wonderful to receive support from all my friends and readers.  Plus, I’m discovering a whole new community of writers within my own circle, people who have been writing for years and just never mentioned it to me.  Through them, I’ve discovered the SavvyAuthors.com forum and the inspiring writing at CreativeCaffeine.com. Thanks for coming out of the woodwork and sharing your own writing prompts, tips, and awesome advice.

In the meantime, I continue to struggle with bringing both conflict and description to my writing.  My Muse loves to write about the action, but I actually have to come back later and ask my Daemon to edit in the descriptions.  Maybe this is what so many writers mean when they describe the relationship between The Muse & The Inner Critic as a precarious dance.  Right now, it’s hard to tell who is leading and who is following.

Create a set of circumstances in which a reasonable person would indeed cry over spilled milk.  —The Pocket Museby Monica Wood

Brenda was having the best day of her life.  Today she started her new job in Portland as the assistant manager at the bank and last weekend, Robert had proposed to her over champagne and strawberries.  The scale said she’d lost 5lbs on her new diet and she’d gotten the best sleep ever now that her noisy neighbors had moved away.  She was even having a great hair day, which almost never happened on the wet spring days the Northwest was famous for.

All she had to do was finish eating breakfast, throw on her jacket and get ready to kick ass at work.  She pulled out her blackberry and tapped a couple of keys.  Jerry, the Oregon Trust territory manager has sent her a congratulatory email.  She couldn’t wait to post about the news on Linkedin and Facebook.

A small frown passed across her face.  Damn, the network was down again.  Had Tabitha been chewing on the router wires again. She looked around for her orange tabby.  “Tabitha, are you making a mess somewhere?”  She put her spoon down.  The flakes were started to get soggy anyway.

Brenda picked up milk carton and took it back to the fridge.  “Tabitha, come on out sweetie.  Do you want the rest of my cereal?” She wandered to the sink and pulled off her engagement ring to wash her hands.  Robert had gotten it a half size too small, so it it still chafed a little on her sensitive skin.

She picked up her breakfast bowl and looked down at the soft floating bits of sugar coated bran.  Maybe she should try fruit tomorrow instead. “Last chance, Tabitha or it’s going down the drain.”

Brenda turned on the water and garbage disposal, so she didn’t hear the quiet shape drop down from the shelf above her.  As she lept, she opened her mouth to bestow a limp brown gift for her master.  A small, recently dead rat plopped from his mouth into the half empty bowl of cereal and milk.  The milk slopped over the sink and caught the end of Brenda’s new platinum princess cut engagement ring.  It’s curved, sparkling form tipped into the sink, picking up speed from the rushing water and fell directly into the rotating gears below.

Brenda’s mouth opened but she only had time to say “Oh” before the piercing sound of Robert’s $4,000 grinding into shreads hit her ears.  She tried to say “No” but the breath escaped her and the tears started to fall.  Tabitha stepped over the dead mouse and started licking at a small pool of milk in a corner of the sink, knowing by Brenda’s soft meowing that her gift had been well received.

“Cats are dangerous companions for writers because cat watching is a near-perfect method of writing avoidance” -Dan Greenburg

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