Pants or no pants

girl-in-pjs-on-laptop


I just finished writing a series of posts that involved a couple named Brad and Milly. Not all chapters/episodes have been posted yet. I’ve written the chapters, but I have yet to revise, re-write, and polish. I’m taking a few days off to catch my breath. And it got me thinking about the way I write. Some people swear they can only write with an outline. While others can write by the seat of their pants – meaning no specific outline. Well, I tried writing in my PJ’s one morning. Initially I thought the experiment turned out well. But after a second look I was truly amazed at the number of dropped or missing words, grammar mistakes a blind person could spot, and other things that were just not up to snuff.  In short, I had created my own brand of literary fertilizer.

I would call this particular writing experiment a failure. I’ve got a number of ebooks that suggest changing your routine a bit. Try writing in a different location. During the writing of one chapter I had a whopping good case of writers block. So I tried moving from my room/den/music room to another location in the condo.

Attractive man with laptop seated in a tree on a tropical beach.

Well that idea was a bust. I was very unaccustomed to writing anywhere else but my room. Someone was doing renovations in their condo and you could hear everything. Then the phone rang. It was something about a survey. Well, that was that. I’d had enough. I moved back. Maybe some people can do good work anywhere (even in a tree) but I can’t. Plus if I was in a tree I’d worry about either falling off the limb or right out the tree!

One day I was writing like there was no tomorrow. I had my trusty outline beside me, and the phone was blissfully silent. I was making fantastic headway. Then I heard funny sounds coming from my little external backup. The funny sounds soon became a countdown to it’s imminent demise. Seagate may make good internal hard drives, but I think they make lousy external hard drives.

ARGH !!!.jpg

But I digress. The whole point of this post was to ask you if you work from an outline, or if you are comfortable writing from the seat of your pants. When I was writing about Brad and Milly I had the eighteen point outline I made to guide me, plus there was a lot tossed in from my own life (Am I going to tell which parts…not on your nelly!) I write mostly between six PM and midnight so I guess that makes me a creature of the night. But I don’t mind. That’s when I get the most done.

The Doctor Has Landed–Chap. 6 in the saga of Panooksa

Idea by Tom Austin  Written by Tom Austin

Chapter 6 in the story of Panooksa

 

Something happened to Milly. She realized her feelings were new, but she also realized she cared a great deal for Brad. So with several herculean efforts she got him in the car, and back to her apartment. Brad was essentially a zombie, but one extremely open to suggestion. When they got to the apartment Milly gave him very basic commands, and steered him towards the bedroom. Brad collapsed on the bed, face down. Milly stood at the end of the bed, and studied the man her heart felt so much for. She saw he was still sweating, his brain still working feverishly, trying to make sense out of what he had seen and heard. Milly worked almost as hard to take off his sweaty clothes off. She started muttering to herself.

“Men. You’re a strange lot. When you’re presented with a problem you go to the ends of the earth to look for a solution, even when a perfectly good solution is staring you in the face”.

Milly now moved to the side of the bed.

With a mighty heave she rolled Brad on his back, and started to unbutton his shirt. She got on top of him, her legs straddling his sides.

“Why do guys have everything on the wrong side ?. Buttons, fly. The only thing that’s in the right place is the zipper. You’d think you guys would get that one right. But no. Some of you screw that up, and I’ll bet that really smarts”.

Brad stirred, and for a minute rolled onto his side. Milly jumped, went back to side of the bed and pushed him back.

“Oh no you don’t. Get on your back dammit ! Jeez, I’ve dealt with more cooperative drunks”.

Milly pushed, and again got him on his back. Before Brad could roll she tore his shirt open.

“Be nice and I’ll get you a new shirt”.

Buttons sailed in every direction, some showering Quincy who was watching the proceedings in the bedroom with extremely mild interest. With the shirt in tatters she now dealt with the thorny issue of his pants. She got top of him again, straddling him, and undid his belt. She got off the bed, and starting tugging at his pant legs.

“Jeez. Most of you guys can’t wait to get out of your pants, and into mine. Please give me a break”.

No such luck. Milly stood at the end of the bed, and analyzed the problem. Then she realized that she had a 200 pound lump of flesh on her bed. Milly gazed at the unconscious lump, and starting pulling on the pant legs with all her might.

“I’m going to cut those damn things if this fails”. She moved to the bottom of the bed, She kneeled on the end of the bed, put one leg on each shoulder, and slowly peeled them off. As she pulled off Brads pants she discovered Brad was wearing Boxer shorts. With Daffy Duck on them.

“Those stay on. I don’t want to deal with that right now”.

After the pants came off she covered Brad with a blanket. Quincy continued to watch Brad when Milly went to change. He decided to move to a warmer venue – Brads buttocks.

Milly changed into a ratty old sweat suit that was still comfy. She stationed herself in a rocking chair that was opposite the door to the bedroom. And slowly fell asleep.

The silence was shattered by a blood curdling scream. Quincy had had a nightmare, and put his claws into Brads rear end. Milly charged towards the bedroom, and inspected the damage. She responded by saying in a soothing voice ‘it’ll be all right’. But Quincy had done a lot of damage. Blood was slowly oozing onto the sheets. Milly knew she have to do something. She got back onto the bed, and somehow convinced Brad to drape himself over Milly’s crossed legs.

“This so embarrassing” said Brad.

“I’ve seen far worse sport” said Milly

“I’m just talking about the circumstances”.

“What do you mean ?”.

“I’m a grown man, and I’ve just been used knocked on my…front by a crazed cat. That’s humiliating. That’s what it is”.

Milly looked at Brad with tiny beady eyes.

“I’ll have you know Quincy is not crazed. He might be little rambunctious, but I assure he is not ‘crazed’. He’s very sensitive. So watch what say about ‘my’ cat.

Because Brad called Quincy crazed she dropped an iodine soaked cotton ball onto one of the more ugly wounds. Brad yowled in pain.

“Oh relax, you’ll live. I’m sorry I can’t say the same about Daffy”.

“What do you mean ?” there was a sudden seriousness in his voice.

“Well let’s put it this way. He’s not exactly DOA, but I think he’s going to spend a lot of time in the ICU”.

“These are my lucky boxers”. Milly rolled her eyes.

“Good lord, now I’ve heard it all. You guys have notches in your belt, and on your bedpost. Now you have lucky boxers. Good Lord. You’re sex maniacs”.

“I’ll have you know my lucky boxers have nothing to do with sex”.

“Then why are they lucky ?”

“I was wearing them when I met you, and I wore them today because I because I was going to ask you if I could move in with you”.

Milly leaned over Brad, hugged him as hard as she could, and knocked the bottle of Iodine over the wounds.


Further musings of Meg can be seen at https://megsorick.com

Check out all four of her books at Bucks County Books series

Including the award winning Three Empty Frames