Yesterday I was doing housework and she tried beating me back into the closet with the mop I used to clean the floor. She insisted on writing. I had a house to clean, a hubby to take care of, dinner for cook for us and my father-in-law.
Blair is admirable for her single-minded devotion to writing. But sometimes she scares me. All she thinks about is writing. She has NO life. She's like a robot in her function. All she knows is push the button, power up the laptop and form words on the keyboard.
If she were a TV show, I'd call her "Desperate Writers." Kind of like Desperate Housewives, only without the sex or fun stuff. Or Bree's nasty, caterwauling mother-in-law. (How DID Rex survive his childhood?)
I'm Bonnie Vanak. I'm an author, a writer but that is not what solely defines me as a person. There is so much more. Blair Valentine is now locked up in the closet. I shooed her in there with the mop, gave her the laptop and wished her luck.
The last thing I heard was a pitiful sigh, followed by these ominous words...
"I'll be back..."