I think I may have royally fucked up last night.
I was sitting there minding my own business and Herself was sitting there bitching about there being nothing on television [as if that was newsworthy].
She switched on her laptop.
Now I have a little yoke where I can see what she is looking at online, so I took a peek. Fucking eBay! Now I know from bitter experience that Herself and eBay are a lethal combination so I had to act fast before May’s [or even June’s] pension was spent on something that was “desperately needed” but would just add to the piles of other “desperately needed” items. In a fit of blind panic, where maybe my judgment wasn’t at its best, I suggested she read my book that is still a work in progress.
I copied the file over onto her laptop.
“It’s not too bad so far but it could do with a little rewrite.”
“How far have you got?”
“The first paragraph.”
Already I could identify with the expression “act in hast, repent at leisure”. I was repenting after one fucking paragraph. I told her to shut up and carry on reading.
In fairness, I heard a couple of badly suppressed giggles, so maybe my efforts weren’t such a disaster after all. After a while she muttered something about there being no romance in it.
“How far have you got this time?”
“The first chapter.”
I sighed. “It isn’t a romantic novel” I said.
“Well, what kind of novel is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a story.”
“It should have some romance in it.”
“Maybe when you get to chapter 16 you’ll change your mind?”
“Why? What happens in chapter 16?”
“You’ll just have to read on and find out.”
I hadn’t a clue what happens in chapter 16 but at least it gave her an incentive to read on. Eventually she switched off her laptop and went to bed.
I asked her this morning what her thoughts were on last night’s little exercise. She obviously had been pondering the topic as she promptly laced into her own version of the story, which while bearing some passing resemblance to my tale was actually a completely different story altogether. I suggested she write her own book. That didn’t go down well. “You’re the fucking writer in this family” was the gist of the response.
In fairness she did manage to pick out a few of the weak spots which I had already identified for a rewrite [and missed some others] but she has still only read the first few chapters.
“Well, what did you think of it overall?”
“I suppose it has potential.”