Apart from the crazy things that come out of my head without which there would be nothing to write, staying at home is the most significant factor in my writing getting this far. If I’m being honest, my first novel would likely be half finished at best if I was still working full time. Instead, it was completed a little less than two years ago. However, having dogs and a kid or two running around, in conjunction with a touch of my own ADD makes getting any sort of solid writing rhythm virtually impossible.
I’ve been trying, really truly trying to get the second book finished with no luck so far. My goal was to have both the second and third books done by the end of last summer but as of today I’m still on the second. While no one is paying me at this point, I do have a few assorted friends and family who, for some reason, like the stuff I write and periodically ask me when the next installment is going to be done. Unfortunately, I always have to give the same pat answer, “I’m working on it. I swear.”
When this happens, I feel bad (yes, wife, I’m capable of that emotion). Giving the same excuse over and over again isn’t fun, but it is nice to have people excited to see your work. It makes me feel like George R.R. Martin minus the money, and fame, and with like three fans instead of tens of thousands. But I suppose that you’ve got to start somewhere.
To prove that I’m not just sitting on my laurels, I thought that it could be helpful to show everyone just what it’s like to write with a house full of half-crazed short creatures. I’ve done something completely new for me to demonstrate my plight and wrote a one-act play to fully dramatize what one of my writing sessions is typically like. So without further ado, here is “Dad!” a play in one act.
(The curtain opens to show a basement room cluttered with guitars, amplifiers, and a dusty air hockey table. Hunched over a computer at a desk is a heavy set, yet still ruggedly handsome man with a large tumbler of coffee in one hand and a fidget cube in the other.)
WRITER: (After twenty minutes of finding music to listen to and working past the ADD, he begins typing) It was a … (Looks down because Dog 1 is pawing at his arm in search of attention. He pets the dog then returns to the computer and begins to type again after another twenty minutes.) It was a dark and st…
4 YEAR OLD: (From the other side of a closed door.) Dad!
WRITER: What?
4 YEAR OLD: I have to poop!
WRITER: Then go poop!
4 YEAR OLD: I already did!
WRITER: In the toilet?
4 YEAR OLD: No.
WRITER: (Sighs heavily and gets up to take care of the child then sends the four-year-old off to play once he is done. He sits down and stares at the computer for ten minutes.)
4 YEAR OLD: (Opens door.) Dad!
WRITER: What now?
4 YEAR OLD: Can I watch cartoons?
WRITER: No, you don’t need to watch cartoons.
4 YEAR OLD: But I really want to watch cartoons.
WRITER: No! Go play with your sister.
4 YEAR OLD: (Growls.) You so mean to me! (Slams door.)
WRITER: (Returns to the computer.) It was a dark and stormy afternoon. No! That sucks! It was a dark and stormy night. That’s better, I think. Or was it better the first way? No, I thin… (Turns around because Dog 2 is barking at Dog 1 for laying on the gigantic stuffed bear she prefers to a dog bed.) Go to your own bed. (Dog 1 grunts but makes no attempt to move.) Move! (With a nasty glare, Dog 1 reluctantly moves to the dog bed and Dog 2 lays down on the bear after turning in a circle seven times.) This is why I’m never going to get this book done.
7 YEAR OLD: (Opens door without knocking.) Dad!
WRITER: (Slams laptop shut.) What?
7 YEAR OLD: Can we watch cartoons?
WRITER: (Hangs his head as his spirit is now broken.) Fine.
7 YEAR OLD: Thank you. (Closes door.)
WRITER: (Reaches for laptop and starts to open it again.)
7 YEAR OLD: (Flings open door.) Dad!
WRITER: WHAT!?
7 YEAR OLD: The dog just pooped in the other room and can I have a snack?
WRITER: (Now a broken and hopeless man, he turns off the lamp and leaves.)
There you have it, little slice of my life. If anyone is interested in producing “Dad!” let me know and I’m sure we can work something out, although I’m not sure I’ll have much time to build out the story until 2033 when my son goes to college.
© 2019 Robert Crouse All Rights Reserved
