Prompt 18 of 31

I am torn. I am enjoying this prompt a night exercise for the month of July but at the same time I would rather just get to work on my novel. What I just, at this moment, realized was prior to this marathon of art and creative writing was that I had languished in my other attempts to edit and get my book together. Now I'm at the point where I would rather be doing that than anything else. Strange... Maybe this little project is helping after all. It just feels exhausting. I'm flexing the creative part of my brain but starting so many stories, without actually finishing-finishing them is heart breaking. Every story I begin to write is like a child and I feel compelled to bring that child to a toddler, then to a teen, and off into adulthood. Leaving it on the wayside of this journey makes me feel pathetic. I suppose that should force me to actually treat each of these prompts like a novel and spend a month working on them.

I bought this book "how to write a book in a month." I've already done it, in my first NaNoWriMo. It's the novel I've been working on for the past three years. (Eesh, that's a long time.) And although I have written it I don't know the editing process. So when I first received the book in the mail I went directly to the "what now..." section, but since I started reading the author refers back to other practices he has explained earlier in the piece. And they are things I am intrigued to understand. So now I want to read the whole thing and see how he breaks down the NoWriMo process.

Either way, I had planned to write a whole new novel next month but I think, instead I will work on editing my finished manuscript.

The Writer's Book of Matches pg. 154 "Hello? Hello? I think the phone just went dead..."

Start time: 9:51

"Hello? Hello? I think the phone just went dead..." said the terrified heroine from the television screen.

Seated before the glowing box were Tim and Alice, her head resting on his shoulder with his arm around her neck.

"Of course it is," Alice said. She pulled herself out of his arms and turned to him.

"Why are you subjecting me to this madness. The women in these movies are always so ridiculously cliché." She turned toward the screen.

Her auburn eyes watched the young, terrified, heroine run panicked through the house, looking through all the windows.

"Watch, now she's going to go upstairs," she said, before the girl did precisely described.

Tim laughed. He studied her with his blue eyes, a look of enchantment upon his face.

"Yeah," she said, throwing herself back against the sofa. The springs squeaked even under her thin frame.

"Women are always painted as complete idiots in terror situations. And then the boyfriend is going to come in and save the day." She groaned. "Where is the chick that can take care of her own, huh? The one that just doesn't go upstairs to hide, but in fact goes to her gun closet stocked with every weapon imagineable." She paused, glaring at the screen. "You know that's how it would happen in the south."

Tim laughed. He ran his fingers through his sandy colored hair and paused the film. The girl on the screen frozen in time with the killer placed before her, his knife raised above his head. Her face etched with a look of pure terror.

"You're putting too much weight on it. You know, as well as I, that these are date films. A young lady, such as yourself, wants to know that if she were to be in such a situation that she would have that strapping boyfriend to come to her aid. And only a few minutes ago, you were in my arms, snuggled close. That is until you brought logic into a fictional scenario."

Alice barked a laugh. She spun herself around on the sofa to face Tim.

"There has to be some modicum of logic, Timothy," she said, "Actually more so in such situations. We," she gestured between the two of them, "are human beings that act irrationally. It makes sense for us to just up and decide 'i'm going to take up the cello.'" She smiled peevishly. "But those characters," she pointed at the television, "They have to have more common sense or else we won't believe their struggle."

"Okay," he said, nodding, "I see what you're saying."

"Thank you."

"What you mean to tell me is that I can do this," he grabbed her by the neck and threw her to the couch and plants himself at her waist, pinning her down. Using his other hand he wrapped his long fingers around her wrists and held her there. "This doesn't make sense because there was no set up for the situation."

He releases her hands and Alice uses them to remove the hand gripped gently around her throat.

"You just wanted to get on top of me."

Tim held up his hands.

"Guilty as charged."

The two look into the other's eyes.

"So did I have to have the reason to do that?"

"You had one," she said, "It was to get on top of me."

The two laughed and interlaced their fingers.

"So, when does that horror movie you're in start filming," Tim said.

Alice thought for a moment.

"Two weeks."

Tim looked at the television screen.

"Are you properly prepared yet?"

Alice propped herself up onto her elbows and follow Tim's line of sight.

"As much as I'll ever be."

As Tim got off of her waist, and sat on the sofa, he said, "Have you read the script?"

"Yep," she said, "I'm one of these bitches. I'm going to see if I can convince the director to go a different route. Because think about it, what if she could take care of herself."

"There wouldn't be a movie."

"No, there would still be a movie, it'd just be an action movie. We'd move away from the genre altogether. And that's where I want to be." She paused. "I'm hoping this will maybe get me there." She took a deep breath. "It's sill but I have this feeling this will be my break. This is my leg up."

Tim put a hand on her shoulder.

"And then by your strength maybe you can pull me into the," Tim held up air quotes,"Biz."

Alice groaned and pulled herself up off of the couch.

"Don't say that. It sounds so schmarmy. Do you know how many people I hear that from all day everyday? It sounds so plastic."

"You just described about ninety percent of the people in the industry. If you want real go into theatre."

"Yeah, but they just want to get into film. Somehow that will make your life better."

"Isn't that what you think? Didn't you say almost exactly that."

Alice hid behind her hand.

"You caught me," she said dropping her mask, "I drank the Kool-Aid."

The two laughed.

Tim stood from the sofa and wrapped Alice in his arms.

"I have absolute faith in you."

"Do you?"

"Mhm."

Alice rolled her eyes.

Then there was an awkward pause.

"Do you want to say a little something?"

Tim raised his eyebrows and slowly nodded his head.

"Oh," Alice said, stepping away, "Yes. And I have faith you in Mr. Writer. Mr. Musician. Mr. Actor."

Tim laughed and wrapped her once again in his arms.

"Just Mr. Writer will do." He pecked her on the lips. "Mr. Awesome Writer."