Life in Art

This morning, I was a little careless doing the washing up and dropped four pasta bowls into the sink. Two broke. A definite 'oh, shit' moment. Yes, these things happen, but they were a Christmas present to my mother some years ago, so the guilt factor rose alarmingly.

While waiting for her to awaken so I could confess, I spent time writing. As you know, I free-write Nano and it was no surprise when my protagonists got themselves into an argument and harsh words were spoken: Dominica finally tossed Ben out of the car in the middle of the desert five hundred miles north of Mogadishu.

Damn, that was mean of me. I thought. But it fit. A nice conflict in a desolate land and a down turn in the relationship. I heard the parental unit finally stir. Time to 'fess up. No harsh words, just understanding that, indeed, these things happen, especially with slippery crockery.

Dom and Ben still haven't made up, though and the rancorous exchanges continue. I think there's still guilt in me for being inattentive and it's being reflected in the book.

But... that's a good thing. If everything runs smoothly, it's boring, so I've got a different kind of conflict and I'll... replace the pasta bowls. I'll also have to find a way to reconcile these two or there won't be happy ending; I'm wondering if it's even possible, but something will occur to me. I hope.