Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1930784
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Comedy · #1930784
This is the story of a new writer and his thoughts. Short yet fun.
         I lifted the glass of whisky to my lips and took a long swig then set it down in front of me. The smoke from my cigarette slowly flowed around as I sucked back a drag and exhaled through my nose. The bar was empty except for the bartender and me. No, wait a minute. You can’t smoke in most bars anymore. Scratch that, start over.

         I twitched slightly as I slowly tilted my head back and shot another pixy stix down the hatch. Oops. That doesn’t work either. It makes my character seem like a ten year old. How can you have a ten year old murder detective hanging out in a bar? Maybe if it was the weekend but certainly not on a school night.

         Maybe this will work.

The dame slowly crossed the room in front of me, grabbing my full attention. She screamed of pure sex as she stopped to look at me. Wait. What am I thinking? Women don’t like to be looked at like they are whores or sex objects. And even worse, if I were to call one a dame I would certainly be marked as a sexist for life. This character creation isn’t as easy as it looks. I knew I should have picked up the Character Creation for Dummies book when I picked up the Writing Fiction for Dummies book.

Try again.

         I drank another beer and slammed down the bottle next to his six friends. Oh can’t do that since it makes me sound like an alcoholic. On top of that what makes a beer him? Shouldn’t the proper word be "it?" I think "it" would be correct but certainly not "him." What I would give for a drink now that I’m thinking about it. Stop. Get back to work or you will never get this chapter done.


         The bartender set a plate in front of me. The bacon double cheeseburger and French fries called to me pulling my attention from the stalking predator sneaking up on my left. Actually, this isn't going to make readers happy either. This is a health conscience world nowadays. I would most definitely lose all my readers if I kept them eating fatty foods. Also what about the rights of the vegetarians? They wouldn’t stand for a hunk of beef and slabs of pig on a bun. They wouldn’t mind the bun. Speaking of buns I really miss my wife. Maybe I should go give her a call.

         Enough man! Back to work before you never have a book ready for publishing.

         I made sure my Glock 19 was loaded and ready to go if this meeting went bad. Darn it. That will set off anyone who hates guns. I certainly don’t want my book to be bought only by a bunch of right wing conservative nut jobs who obviously only like to kill things. I mean what if they are insulted. They certainly would come after me with those nasty guns. That’s all I need isn’t it? A bunch of gun totin’ weirdoes hunting me like a defenseless rabbit.

         Rabbits. I wonder if there are any rabbits outside right now. I’ll take just one quick look. Nope, no rabbits but wow are there a lot of leaves on the ground outside. Maybe I should go rake the leaves then come back to write some more. Write some more. Oh yea, I almost forgot I was writing. Back to work NOW!

         I sat at my desk reading my two day old newspaper. I figured since I was lacking customers I would certainly have time to catch up on world events. Stacks of files and paperwork were scattered across the desk a few of which had fallen onto the floor. Ugh. First, who is going to be sitting around reading an old newspaper? A slacker that’s who. My character isn’t a slacker because a slacker can’t get anything done. They just put everything off so how could a detective be someone who puts everything off? No one would ever hire him. And look at the room. Who in their right mind would hire a slob to help with a murder or missing person case? That character would set off any mother and we all know only mothers read these kinds of books.

         Hmm. I haven’t talked to my mom in a while. Maybe I should give her a call. I know she was going grocery shopping this morning so maybe I will see if that went well. The grocery store has been out of the kind of cereal she likes and she has been annoyed with them because of it. Maybe she ended up going to a different store instead. Yea, I should definitely give her a call. Wait. No. I need to write. This effin’ sucks. I can’t seem to get anything done today. BACK. TO. WORK.

         I watched as Jimmy "The Nose" walked into the bar and strode across the room. His three thousand dollar suit couldn’t mask the fact that he was one very ugly mobster. The mob. Hmm. Do I really want to tick off the mob? Seriously. One day I will just get into my car and start it up. Boom! No more me. And dear lord ‘Jimmy the nose’ may make me sound like an anti-Semite because only Jewish people have big noses right? Wait, am I an anti-Semite thinking only Jewish people have big noses. What the hell is wrong with me? I need a drink.

         Walking. Walking. Walking. Get a glass. Grab the whiskey and cola. Cubes of ice are good. Pour. Pour more. Done. Walking. Walking. Walking. Now I can write. Drink. Mmmm. If nothing else I can get a buzz on with this drink. Am I an alcoholic? Nope. Can’t be, I don’t go to meetings. Ha that’s funny stuff. Oh. I am putting off this chapter again. Darn it.

         I could see the guy closest to me put his hand in his pocket. Assuming he was going for a weapon I attacked him with my Louisville slugger hitting him as hard as I could in the head. My dear lord. That makes my protagonist sound like a horrible person. Hitting a person because they may have a weapon. Who does that? He would certainly end up in court or jail over that kind of action. And hitting him with a baseball bat of all things. I would lose all my baseball fans if I did something like that. I can’t do this anymore. I mean how do authors write such good characters without insulting their readers. I know!

         I sat at my nice clean desk as a well dressed, clean, and proper woman walked into the office and sat down. We had a nice conversation about her missing husband and I assured her I could help.

         Screw this. I quit. Shove computer off desk and grab drink. Writing sucks.

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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1930784