Reason #73 Why It's Tough To Be A Writer

Scene: Sitting in my green, overstuffed chair, java at my side, MacBook in my lap, dogs at my feet, late into the morning, alone at last. Review my WIP, send my mind back to 1807, London, rainy, danger, and--cell phone rings. White-haired little old lady’s face pops up.

Sigh. I have to answer.

“Hi mom.”

“Just thought you should know I’m getting a new roof and windows for free.”

“Nothing's free mom, least of all a roof and windows.”

“But the man on the phone said so.”

“I told you not to answer the phone unless you know who’s calling. Why didn’t you check the caller ID before you answered?”

“I couldn’t see it.”
“Did you look?”

“No”

Bigger sigh. “Please tell me you didn’t give out your social security number this time.”

“No, you told me not to do that.”

“I also told you not to answer the phone without checking the ID first.”

“Oh yeah.”

“I’ll have to deal with it when I come over tomorrow.”

“Can’t you come over now?”

“I’m writing.”

“Do that later.”

“Mom, we’ve been over this before. My writing time is limited enough as it is and the next hour is all I’ve got for today.”

“Oh. Okay. I just thought you’d like to be here when the nice insurance lady comes over with my free toaster.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, she’ll be here in a half hour. Oh…didn’t I tell you that?”

Ginormous sigh. “Be right over.”

“See you then.”