Me on Trying to Break the Writing Block

me: *looking over at Sam sitting next to me on my nest of blankets on the floor of my bedroom* dude.

Sam: *looking down at one hand while chewing on the fingernails of the other* what?

me: where've you been? it's been two weeks since i've written anything that wasn't a typo fix or a line added on to the previous scene that might make sense.

Sam: i'm not the one writing this, you know. you are. aren't you supposed to be able to get past these dry spells?

me: not if i don't know what's going on. did you ever have that talk with your mom?

Sam: *glares at me from her spot next to me, still chewing on her nails*

me: you ever think she would've been happier if when your dad died she died, too??

Sam: are you asking me if i think Mom's suicidal??

me: not really. like, if they'd died in the same accident.

Sam: *looking out the window* well, she wouldn't be in the giant depressing hole she's in now. i don't know. for all i know, i would've gone nuts without her after Dad died. you thinking of killing her off??

me: *glancing off into the opposite corner* it's crossed my mind.

Sam: you think it would make for a better story?? there are a lot of single parent family deals out there, like that Hush, Hush book. Nora's dad died, too.

me: yeah, but from what the summary of the next book says, there might've been a reason for that. i don't think someone wanted your dad killed. not even your grandparents.

Sam: *scoffs*

me: no, really. sure, they're manipulative jerks and need to get the sticks out of their butts, but he was still the prodigal son and everything.

Sam: and now i'm the prodigal granddaughter.

me: sorry about that.

Sam: *waves it off* so.

me: so. *giant pause while i try to find a better song to listen to* do you like the title i came up with??

Sam: yeah, even if you did steal it from that song.

me: it's not stealing if i say where i got it, like when i wrote all those papers and had to quote sources.

Sam: *fake snoring sound*

me: *giving her a dirty look* bitch.

Sam: damn right. *nibbles on her thumbnail* what're you going to do?

me: something. i need this scene, even if i haven't quite figured out your mother's state of mind and motivation and all that crap. and my butt's falling asleep.

Sam: sit on the bed.

me: *waving it off* nah. *sighing* why can't the first draft be perfect?? i've got craploads of edit ideas.

Sam: you're the writer, not me.

me: i hate you.

Sam: then why're you writing about me?

me: self-torture??

Sam: *chuckling* probably. *makes a face* i don't like this song.

me: *glancing over at her* it's not your song, is it?? so, deal with it. i could make you end up with Gabe.

Sam: *cringing* i'd have to scrape off the slime every morning.

me: yeah. sometimes i wish you liked him a little more, like you'd shoved him right into the friend zone instead of the don't like him zone. would've been interesting.

Sam: *drilling her finger into my shoulder* edits.

me: maybe. i don't like him, either. it's kinda hard to make you sort of like him.

Sam: make me?? *giving me a look*

me: you know what i mean. *looking at Sam out of the corner of my eye* you just want to pump me for info about Jack.

Sam: *turns her face away after i catch a glimpse of her blush* you're the one who's got him talking to me.

me: that's cause he wants to. why else do you think he asked about that project thing?

Sam: *shrugging* is his mom going to hate me?

me: hate you? no.

Sam: *glancing out from under her lashes to look at me* but?

me: but what? *rolling my eyes when i get what she's asking* oh, i don't know yet. look, dude, you're like if Romeo and Juliet had a kid. the purists from both sides see you as a smack in the face. not everyone's going to like you. besides, i thought you didn't care.

Sam: *making a growling noise* i don't. i just don't want the whispers to continue.

me: me, too.

Sam: it's not fair to Mom. maybe it would be better if they'd both died in some kind of accident.

me: then everything would get dumped on your shoulders, you know, and then i'd have to come up with some cousin or aunt or uncle, and i'd have to re-write a bunch of stuff before i could continue. i hate making big changes when it's still a work in progress.

Sam: i know, and you've written that intro chapter like, 4 times already.

me: i'm going to do it this way, and when it's done i'll see if i like it with your mom there. if i don't, then i'll change it.

Sam: *nodding while we both sit there as the song changes* is it still raining out there?

me: don't think so.

Sam: darn. i like the rain.

me: me too.

Sam: *reaches up to fiddle with the ring on her necklace* am i going to change soon?

me: soon. i have to write everything in order.

Sam: cause you're neurotic and anal-retentive that way??

me: pretty much. i know what i want to happen. i think i'm better off writing what i want to happen without caring about word count, even though it's hard not to care. then, when all the basic stuff is done, i can fill in the little gaps and do the edits i want to do.

Sam: is everyone going to be the same in the edits?

me: *sighing* i don't know. Evie's good at being normal. you need normal.

Sam: yeah. could you kill off Morgan?

me: no.

Sam: why not?

me: because if you want a sequel, Morgan probably should exist. i don't think she'll be around a lot, except for an argument or two, and then that big fight at the end.

Sam: *nodding* that'll be fun.

me: yup. *looks outside while both of us don't say anything for a minute or two* you think you're ready to talk to your mom now?

Sam: if you turn on the light and sit on the bed. and get rid of that song. it sucks.

me: *sighing* i'll get rid of the song, okay?

Sam: deal. should we do that spitting in the palm handshake thing?

me: no. eww.