She couldn't take her eyes off the sharp knife on the conference room table. Their meetings didn't usually include knives, but a birthday cake for this week's meeting meant utensils. All she could think about was plunging the knife into the twenty-something girl who had hijacked the meeting, the girl who hadn't stopped talking for twenty minutes, completely absorbed in the sound of her own voice and the importance of her own ideas.
The relief, the satisfaction, the sheer joy - surely everyone else in the room would also feel it. "I'll be a hero," she thought. "Everyone here will be shaking my hand and thanking me for making it stop."
But of course she wouldn't. Instead she would continue to pretend- listen, nodding her head and making meaningless notes, hoping that nobody would hear her grinding her teeth. Twenty-five years into her career and almost fifty, she had learned a thing or two. "It's the thought that counts," she said to herself. "Almost as good as real thing."
Post #211 September 16
Well, what do you think?
Opening for a novel? are you interested? do you want to know more.
They say write what you know....how about writing a novel about a middle-aged woman who overcomes adversity (and annoying twenty-somethings) to build a new life (do people care about middle-aged protaganists?) a la David Sedaris ...edgy/funny/black/searingly real and painful. maybe.....but how would it end?
Writing feels like an antidote to the day - the days when you really do want to escape ...or when you really want to plunge a knife into someone...writing feels like revenge.
and after all, those make for the best stories.