For twenty-four long hours
my story will wait
marinating in plot while I live my real life.
One day out of the year
how hard can it be
to push my other worlds aside?
An open bottle of wine
on the counter does breathe
beside an already half-empty glass.
In just a short while it will be time for cheer—
time for family—
but for now, it’s time to stuff a dead bird in the ass.
“Shut up!” I yell,
to the voices in my head.
I’m not a writer today, can’t they see?
But only laughter answers while I complete my tasks—
those who refuse to be silenced
delighting in my misery.
“I’ll show you!” I yell, yet again,
sticking to my schedule,
as any good chef would do.
All I need is a little luck,
and enough wine to drown them out,
and the meal should all be ready by two.
An ambitious feat for sure,
but I’m far from scared
I’ve got this, or didn’t you know?
The turkey will be succulent,
the potatoes oh so buttery,
and my pumpkin pie, well, that’s known to make people moan.
A culinary masterpiece it will be
when it’s all said and done—
that’s not vanity, just pure and simple fact,
only thirty minutes in
already heaven flirts with my nose,
and the empty wine bottle is now heading to the trash.
Gluttonous sin will be had by all
in nothing but a few short hours
and for one day I’ll be revered the best spouse ever.
Common forgetfulness for things like birthdays,
and paying bills… all a dream.
I mean, really… Me? I would never!
“But what about me?” a voice cries.
“Shut up!”
“—Not a chance,
it’s my turn, I once had a family, too.
They died in a fire,
though not all in the same one,
and ten years later, I now stand accused.”
And just like that
a new story idea explodes,
urging me to my laptop that’s never far away.
A quick session, I promise,
besides what’s the harm,
just a mere five minutes out of the day.
It will only take a few,
I’m a professional, remember?
Lightening fingers fly as they pen a perfect opening.
One with a character so flawed,
so damaged, so complex,
dare I say, this might be my most compelling story.
I know this, of course,
because circumstances as they were,
I wrote ten more additional scenes,
and it’s possible, just maybe,
that included therein
lay a detailed outline for a three-book series.
What about the meal, you ask?
It obviously went off without a hitch—
we surrounded a table as happy glutinous sinners.
Sure fireman might have been called,
but it’s research, you see,
and really, the local diner serves a magnificent turkey dinner.
(c) Sierra Kummings 2015
Sierra Kummings 