Interlude for Author Meltdown

  This story suddenly became hard to tell.  I lost the plot, assuming there ever was one?!  Or maybe rather, it was appropriated by the women, all of whom now seem to be onto me.  Quite a peculiar quandary I find myself in, hijacked by my own characters who appear determined to craft their own storyline.

  So be it.  That IS what I keep saying in this blog.  'So be it.'  'Allow.'  'Accept.'  'Become quiet so that you can see that which alludes you.'  blah, blah, blah…

  You laugh, pleased that I must abide my own words!  I’ll give you that.  

  Perhaps a little drumming will help me catch up with them.  Who knows?  Maybe they’ll even let me join them in creating, or at least telling, this story!

  Interrupting my meltdown, ‘The way I see it, you took too much control,’ says Ina.  ‘You put us places without asking if we wanted to be there.  Like, who decided I wanted to always be in the kitchen?  You did!  I like other parts of the house too, you know?!’

  Yanked from my reverie, ‘Wait.  I thought you were off on an adventure.’

  Rita laughs, ‘You don’t know it, but your voice rings in our heads!  We can’t escape you!’

  ‘I say we cut her off right now!’ Estelle demands, piercing my pride with her thought daggers.  ‘We don’t need her!  We can tell our own story.’

  Hazel, ‘Do you think?  Weren’t we born in her mind?  Do we exist outside her imagination?’

  ‘Ok, let's not fall into Schrödinger's cat box!’ laughs Rita.  ‘How about this,’ she says, turning to me, ‘you can come with us, but you can’t talk behind our backs or make stuff up about us.’

  ‘Yah,’ Ina agrees, ‘and you have to make yourself visible to us all.  No more lurking in the shadows!’

  'Okay,' I'm thinking, 'so this couldn’t get any more bizarre.'

  ‘See!’ Estelle exclaims, ‘that’s what I’m talking about!’

  Facing her squarely, I ask, ‘How am I supposed to tell the story then?’

  ‘You don’t,’ says Martha, appearing out of nowhere.  ‘You let the women tell their story.  All you have to do is write it.  I know you can do that.  You do it all the time.’

  Submitting to defeat at the hands of my creations, I agree to the terms.  ‘This is really f…d up!’

  ‘I heard that!’ Estelle snorts, and they fly off, me chasing behind.  Yes, I can fly too.