Previously on Betsy’s Blog…
Betsy and Harry, her Quest Guide, determined that the first step Betsy needs to take to become a successful indie author is to write more. They also discussed Betsy’s production schedule and decided Betsy would finish the first draft of her work in progress by May 11. Unfortunately, in the meantime Betsy experienced a heartbreaking loss.
But now we are left to wonder – has Betsy been able to write at all? Has her grief blown her schedule completely out of the water? Is her life totally off track? And why is her trash can full of empty ice cream containers and plastic cheesecake trays? Why are more and more sugar molecules zipping through Betsy’s brain?
Join us as Harry tries to figure out what’s up with Betsy…
*snore* *grumble* *snore*
Geeze, is that the Muse? *Harry scampers closer to an old, ratty, pull-out sofa shoved into a corner of Betsy’s brain* *pulls himself up on a cushion so he can see the face of the sleeping woman* Oh, man. It is her. Muse? *reaches out with a paw and pokes the Muse in the face* Wake up.
*grumble* *snort* *Muse blinks eyes open* *pushes herself up on her elbow* *looks down at Harry* Oh. Hey. *collapses back on the sofa*
You gotta get up. *Harry pokes her again*
Can’t. Too. Tired.
Well, get over it! *Harry climbs on Muse’s chest and glares down into her face* You should be helping Betsy write.
*Muse swats at Harry, but he jumps away* Too bad.
Whaddya mean, too bad? *Harry sits back on hind legs* *folds forelegs across chest* We’ve got goals. A schedule. I mean, I know she’s been through a lot lately and she’s a total wreck–
*Muse turns her head away* Poor little kitty.
–and that’s only to be expected. But we have to get her working again. You and I both know that writing is going to help. You saw how much better she felt after writing Sunday’s blog post. She NEEDS to write or she’s gonna go nuts!
*Muse props herself up on her elbows again* Look, I know that, and you know that, but SHE doesn’t seem to know that.
*Harry frowns* She doesn’t? What’s going on?
*Muse rolls her eyes* Oh, come on. Don’t be stupid. You live in this brain too.
Well, I know she’s been grieving. *Harry shrugs uncomfortably* I’ve kind of stayed away, if you want to know the truth. I hate it when a chick cries. I never know what to say.
Oh, GREAT! *Muse flops back on the sofa and stares at the ceiling of the brain* The one time she needs a freaking Guide and you run away. Such a typical man.
Hey! I’m a gerbil here! *Harry paces back and forth on Muse’s chest* So you’re telling me she’s still all screwed up?
Well, duh. *Muse yawns hugely* Uh oh. Here comes another dose of sugar and chemicals. She’s self-medicating again. I’ll be asleep in… a… second…
*Harry stares at her* What the hell are you talking about?
Go to the *yawn* temporal lobe…and…see…. *snore*
Huh. *Harry pokes at the Muse* *Muse grumbles and turns on her side* *Harry jumps nimbly to the floor before he gets squashed* Darn it, what the heck has Betsy gotten herself into now?
*Harry ducks flying molecules of sugar and chemicals and serotonin* *Floor of brain begins to quake and then break apart*
What the heck? *Harry grabs onto the basal ganglia to keep his footing* *Electrical sparks fly from cell to cell* Oh my gosh! *Harry makes a break for the temporal lobe* Betsy! Betsy, what’s going on? Betsy!
*Harry makes a leap down a neural pathway* *dives into temporal lobe* *comes to a skidding halt* *stares*
Betsy?
HELLO.
Who the hell are you?
To be continued….
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