Suzie’s House 276: Lisa and Mrs. Audrey

“It’s all right, isn’t it? That I brought her with me?”

“Of course,” I said. I smiled at Lisa, but didn’t offer my hand.

I’m not opposed to shaking hands, but I never start it. Seems I can never get that right, so I just leave it up to others. If you want to shake my hand, fine. If not, I won’t even notice. Apparently Lisa considered it necessary, because she stuck out her hand, took it back before I could get mine up, then got flustered and offered it again. I gave it a gentle squeeze, and she laughed nervously. Cute kid.

“Come on in,” I said as I lead the way into the kitchen. “I have milk, juice, water, and in a few more minutes there should be bread.”

“It’s like being at Suzie’s house,” Lisa said to Ben.

I smiled because in a way, my house is very much like hers. In other ways it’s very different. For example, I know for sure she has a place to put her vacuum cleaner. Mine just floats from room to room as I get around to cleaning.

We settled around the table. Ben took his customary seat across from me, leaving Lisa with one of the end seats. Usually he brings out something for me to read, but not today.

“So. What would you like to talk about today?”

“Nothing, I guess,” Ben said. “I just wanted Lisa to meet you.”

“Are you interested in writing, Lisa?”

“Oh. Um…I guess.”

Such a half hearted reply. I didn’t feel that she was trying to be humble. She seriously didn’t seem that interested in writing. I guess she came mostly to see what it was Ben and I were up to. Pity he didn’t bring anything with him so we could show her.

“Have you tried it?” I asked to gage where to start.

“Yeah.” She looked grim.

“More work than you were expecting?” I tried not to smile, and failed miserably.

“Yeah. It was a lot harder.” The passion was there this time, though not much enthusiasm. “I’m good at essays and stuff. I thought it would be like that.”

“Did you get lost in the decisions?”

“Huh?”

“When you think of a story, it might be straight forward and simple, but when you write it, there are a lot of decisions. One of the first for me is what point of view I will use. I’ve had the plot change under me when I shifted to a different point of view, so it’s important. Then there are questions of setting, and dialogue tags, and all kinds of questions about the characters and how to present them. Even choosing the wording of a particular sentence can be enough to bog me down. There are a lot of elements involved.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess.” Lisa blinked at the table, thinking about it.

She probably did get bogged down that way, but had only been aware that it was hard to write. I gave Ben a look. He should already know I wouldn’t drag anyone into the writing profession. It’s not my duty to expand the field.

I got up and checked the bread. The top crust sprang back lightly, just edging toward hard. On this particular loaf, that meant it was done, so I pulled it out.

“I tried. Really, I did,” Lisa said. “But it didn’t work. I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

“I find it helps to focus on where I want the story to go, and how I want the reader to feel.”

“You sound like you really know what you’re talking about.” She looked at me like she had no idea this might be taken as an insult.

“Yeah,” I suppressed a smile. “Maybe. Anyway, if it’s about writer’s block, I have all kinds of suggestions.”

“I don’t really know how much I want to do this,” Lisa accepted a slice of bread on a plate from me.

“Then don’t bother.” I cut off another slice and gave it to Ben.

“But…” Ben’s brows wrinkled and he frowned as he took the plate.

“No buts,” I interrupted. “There is nothing that says everybody has to be a writer. Most people who take it on half-heartedly never get anywhere with it. You should know by now that it isn’t all banter and brilliance.”

“Yeah.” he agreed. He turned his attention to the pot of raspberry jam.

“I don’t get it,” Lisa said, looking from one of us to the other.

I could have said something about the way writing tended to gouge out parts of your soul and make you look at it, or about opening emotional veins to bleed your deepest thoughts on the page, or about the million words most writers produce before selling their first books. None of it would mean anything to her if she hadn’t really tried.

“Did you only try the once?” I asked because what I could say to help her depended on her answer. But writers tend to be a little touchy.

“Yes.” She dropped her slice of bread to her plate as if it didn’t taste good. “Well, what about you? What have you done?” Her eyes filled with defiance and challenge.

“I have over twenty manuscripts in hand at the moment. Most of them are in revision. One is in circulation with editors. One is published in ebook form. I finished a Science Fiction book recently that I’m rather pleased with.”

“Can I read it?” Lisa stared me down.

“Not yet. No. I doubt you’d much care for it anyway. It’s a bit gruesome.”

“You write gruesome stuff?” Ben perked up.

“Sometimes.” I smiled at him. So far I hadn’t seen anything from him that came even remotely close to my gruesome stuff. But he was a teenage boy. He’d probably like it. “If you want, I’ll let you both give me a beta read.”

“What’s a beta read?”

I took a bite of bread. Rich, yeasty, the steam swirled warmly across my lips and over my nose. Just the right amount of sweet and salt, it tasted good. While the other two each had another bite, I considered how silly it was to hold back, even on a girl who didn’t really want to be a writer. It was like begrudging the work it took to write a book. Might as well just go for it.

We will begin from here next week. Please leave a comment. Suzie’s House is powered by its readers.