“So you’re a writer!”

Cue deer-in-headlights look.

“Um….yeah. I am.” (Put some more conviction in your voice, dammit!) “I’m a writer.”

“So what are you writing?”

“It’s a story about a girl and she steals people’s dying breath so she can sing their stories to the stars.”

“Oh.”

“And there’s a whole council of magical beings defined by the four elements and -“

(Their eyes are wandering. They’re bored. I knew they wouldn’t get it.)

“That sounds crazy!”

“Yeah, it is. I mean, no, it’s cool and the way she and the guy end up finding each other is -“

(Their eyes are drifting again and what the hell am I giving up the entire plot for? Shut the f**k up, already. Idiot.)

“Well, good luck with that.”

“Thanks.” (Should I get more wine? I barely drank any. I should probably look like I regularly drink wine. But I don’t want to seem drunk. Or be drunk. God knows I’ll be drawing plot diagrams with refrigerator magnets if I don’t watch myself.)

“Hi! Lisa tells me you’re a writer!”

(Turn slowly, smile widely) Yeah, I am.” (That was nice and confident. Yes it was.)

“What are you writing?”

(Pause) “It’s a romance.” (Smile)

“Nice! Do you need more wine?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

(I am the master of my fate. I am the Captain of my soul…)