First

 This piece was my very first Writing Contest entry ( the prompt was titled “Rock Bottom”) my first handwritten draft was longer and a bit more raw (language wise) even though I shortened and cleaned it up some- I refused to take all of the raunch out- they did not publish it along with everyone else who simply entered, like they promised which was the only reason I entered in the first place! The bastards published all the other pieces that were entered except mine but I am absolutely cool with that because I still write the way I want to and my thought is, ” Fuck the people who can’t handle my voice, there are others out there who can!” Well, with that being said, Enjoy!

Last Page First

“I know you’re in there I saw you get your mail”

“I didn’t know stalking was a part of your job description.”

“Well, it’s a new skill I can add to my resume.”

“What do you want?”

“What do you think I want?”

“I don’t know, for it to rain Benjamin Franklin’s every time you snap your fingers, just like everybody else.”

“Funny, maybe you should weave a book out of that idea.”

“I forgot what a bitch you are in person.”

“Well, that stands to reason since I was a bitch to you  on your voicemail several times, mind you. I was a bitch to you in your emails and text messages yet again several times, with no acknowledgment whatsoever so here I am!”

“See that door over there? Don’t let it hit your ass on your way out.”

“I don;t have time for this shit! You’re behaving like a child and you know how I feel about children! When I get to three I am going to throw you over my shoulder and shove you into the trunk of my car and take you back to my office and smack you silly until you write something!”

“Geez, for a mother you’re awfully violent.”

“Children make you violent.”

No, that’s just you.”

“Fine.”

“If I go willingly, the trunk is off the table right?”

“You can sit where my toddler sits and I’m not moving shit.”

“You’re a mean mommy.”

“And you’re the petulant brat I happen to love.”

“Leave the key under the mat.”

“Fine, get in the car.

“I changed my mind, I’m getting out.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“For starters,  I didn’t get to finish my perfectly prepared Whiskey Sour and I was right in the middle of one of the good episodes of Star Trek also…”

“I swear to God I will bitch slap you into next week if you don’t give me a straight answer!”

“By the way, will you please open this damn door!”

“Alright, you want out fine get out! But know this, I am the only person standing between you and prison where ironically you don’t have to write anything there either!”

“What?”

“What did it for you? The notion of going to prison or the thought of not having to write anything ever again?”

“Prison. I couldn’t give a shit about writing anymore. Why would I potentially be going to prison?”

“Plagiarism is a felony these days, fortunately for your ungrateful ass I went to the mat for you, so I could lose everything!”

“Honestly, I didn’t know it was that serious a thing. I need a drink.”

“Oh no, you are going to process all this shit sober!”

“You really are a mean mommy.”

“Damn right I am.”

Who’s in my office? Excuse me, can I help you?”

“Back up ma’am, FBI.”

“Fuck this, I’m getting a drink.”

“You listen to me, if you are not where I think you’re going to be when I’m done here, you will be a homicide victim. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly, I’ll be in my spot.”

“Scotch two rocks lime.”

“Coming right up.”

“How the hell did I get here? All ever wanted was to someday be like Ernest Hemingway, write and publish some stories, travel and drink with other famous Expats! Why did I believe all that shit about being the next whoever and Nobel and Pulitzer prizes, Hemingway got both of those then no more recognition until after he died! Well, at least he remembered most of his stuff I don’t even remember writing the damn book!”

“Another?”

“Until I say when.”

“And those stupid reporters asking me, “What’s your writing process?” they want to know what my writing process is? Whiskey and auto correct! Well, it’s funny to me!”

“And only you. Pay up and let’s go.”

“Hi, I’ll order the app plate.”

“No! You’re the worst behaved client I have, God I wish I knew what is wrong with you!”

“You know, on one of those” writer personality” quiz’s I scored Hemingway! Did you know that?”

“No. I did not know that, just like I don’t know why you plagiarized not one but two manuscripts that I had to squash!”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re sorry! You can be sorry until the fucking cows come home! I want to know why? Why are you ruining not only your life but mine as well? I took a chance on you and this is the thanks I get?”

“I’ll talk to the board.”

“Stay the hell away, I mean it!”

“Excuse me, that’s a closed meeting!”

“Well, I’m opening it! Hello, all I have something I would like to say.”

“What makes you think we care about anything you have to say?”

“Please, I have come to learn all plagiarism is wrong no matter how old the work is or what medium it presents itself in.”

“Do you really expect us to believe you just didn’t know any better?”

“No, I expect you to believe that what I did came from a place of fear, laziness and panic. Fear that I could not recreate that lightning in a bottle again, laziness because someone else did and the result was right at my fingertips and panic because I had to show something the closer deadlines got.”

“Did you even write the first one?”

“Yes. The problem is that I just don’t remember writing it, but my agent saved all my scribbling as proof, she says that I can do it again.”

“Good luck with that, because after we’re done  you’ll be lucky to be able to write your own name.”

“Thank you, everyone.”

“That wasn’t brave.”

“I know, brave would have been to at least fucking try.”

“I’m going to pay back the advance for you. But know this, you do not deserve it nor my forgiveness or this referral for remote freelance work.”

“You’re not a mean mommy.”

“Damn right I am.”