Give Me an Enemy"So.... I'm writing a novel."
I say so, and they hum little sounds of acknowledgment, nod, avoid my eyes as they continue on with the conversation, unaware. After all, when am I not writing a novel? When am I not scribbling character designs in the margins of my military history lecture notes, not filling notebook after notebook with drivel and tripe, not throwing pens at the garbage with a frustrated yell when it dies in the middle of my so-called masterpiece? When are the keys of my keyboard not clacking away like angry mandibles of some giant alien insect, are the gears not turning in my right sided heavy brain, am I not sharpening my sword of literary wit? When am I not dreaming big dreams of my name in print and my words immortalized?
When am I not writing a novel?
So I learn, after awhile, to stop telling people I'm writing a novel. I have too many on the go at any one time, anyway. It's better if they find out when it's done. Or when it's published, maybe. Maybe that will be a g