Leaping lattes, the boys at H-P never warned me about this. They only told me I was being placed in the home of a writer.
Here, I had visions of late-night literary discussions over a Corvaussier with a chap in a velvet jacket, smoking a fine Cuban cigar. Maybe a little Mendelssohn in the background, or at least Mozart.
Egads, what is that noise? “Come a Tie Yi Yippee, Yippee Yay”? Cover my speakers, please. No Mozart? Cowboy songs? Humph.
Back to my literary dream. Together—this fine author and I—we would create the modern Dickensian masterpiece, or at least a significant sonnet or two. Ah, the power of the written word…
Dadburned? Consarned? Dropped “G’s” all over the place? I try my best. But she just ignores those red underlines. What does she think that is, anyway, just a pretty color? And the grammar. Acres of green. Ignored again. Her manuscripts look like a Christmas tree. What’s a computer to do?
But wait. What is this, now? Lesson plans. Metaphors. Similes. “Angels invisible in their gossamer dresses …” “The reflected sky ran like a vein of silver in the creek…” “The murmuring of innumerable bees…”
Aaaahhhh. This is better than Mozart. Better than fine brandy. Yes … there may be hope for her yet.
----------------------------------A native Montanan, Heidi Thomas now lives in Northwest Washington. She has just had her first novel published, Cowgirl Dreams, based on her grandmother. Heidi has a degree in journalism, a certificate in fiction writing and is a member of Northwest Independent Editors Guild. She teaches writing and edits, and is working on the next books in her “Dare to Dream” series, and blogs.