The Doctor Bobs In

We now meet my former therapist Dr. Rubber Duckie. In this session I was just beginning my foray into the National Novel Writing Month challenge. The goal is to write… as I recall, 50,000 words to get a rough [and it WAS rough] draft of a novel. I must admit, trying to write a novel under the influence of peri-menopause was a foolhardy thing to do. But I did it anyway. 🙂

Rubber Duckie Muse

 There she is, soaking in the bath with her head submerged in the water. Only her face is above the surface, as she practices floating, by holding her breath. National Novel Writing Month awaits her in the other room.

Dr. Rubber Duckie bobs nearby, leafing through her file. 

Dr. RD: What are you doing there Liebling? 

Me: Well, I am in the tub here warming up my brain to get ready for my novel writing session this morning. 

Dr. RD: (Glancing over the top of the file folder, one eyebrow arched.) You know that soaking your head won’t help your writing abilities one bit. 

Me: Well then, whence came the expression, ‘go soak your head’? 

Dr. RD: Are you sure this idea of writing a novel in a month is a good thing for you considering your rather um, delicate condition? I’m thinking perhaps it is becoming a bit of a strain on your mental stability. And just for your information, ‘whence’ is an archaic form, I’d dump it if I were you. 

Me: What mental stability? 

Dr. RD: (Frowning) Yes, I see your point. 

Me: Well, to be completely honest, I am in here avoiding sitting down at the computer and working on my word count for the day. I am beginning to dislike my main character, my plot is as bland as buttermilk, there are major flaws in the premise of the story, and I don’t think that I am cut out to be a writer of novels. 

Dr. RD: Now we are getting somewhere. I think you are floating, er, laboring under the delusion that the only real writers are novelists. This is simply not true my dear. 

Me: (Hopefully) . . .Ya think? 

Dr. RD: I am sure of it. There are great writers who only wrote poetry or essays, and frankly I think some of those novelist types are a bit off their rockers anyway. Oh sure, they can knock of a piece of brilliant writing and make millions, but they can’t do it unless they are bombed out of their minds on Single Malt Whiskey, or making everyone in their lives miserable while they are at it. 

Me: Well…I see your point. I don’t want to make my family miserable, and I hate whiskey. You know any great writers who drink Shasta Diet Grapefruit soda? 

Dr. RD: Yes, I think I heard of one, her name was Silly Tilly. But her writings were not discovered until after her untimely death. The manuscript was found in a trunk in the attic. She wrote that erotic masterpiece, 101 Nights of Passion. You know the one I’m talking about? What a grasp that woman had on…umm, er…ahem. 

Me: (Looking at Dr. Rubber Duckie in a totally new light.) 

Why Dr. I think I see your point. Maybe I should just drop this whole novel thing and get on with what I do best. 

Dr. RD: Oh no, my waterlogged friend. You will finish this, or I will never hear the end of it. It will be, ‘Why oh why didn’t I finish that novel?’ ad nauseam for the rest of whatever. No, get your fanny out of this tub and get in there and put some words on paper. That’s my prescription. 

Me: Yes Dr. I’ll get right on it. Um, I was wondering, was Silly Tilly’s erotic novel published under her real name or a pen name…? 

Dr. RD: (Clearing throat noisily) Never you mind about Tilly. Pull that plug and get out there and get busy. 

[Sound of water going down the drain. We can only hope our heroine’s brains aren’t headed the same direction.]