Strange things start to happen to your brain when you start investing this much mental energy into one pursuit. The other night, somewhere between choreographing a space-age bar fight and staging a daring escape from a locked cargo hold, I had a visit from an old friend. Someone I hadn’t seen for many years, and to be honest, hadn’t expected to see again. I certainly never expected to hear her knocking on my door at two in the morning.
What followed was complete and unadulterated nonsense, but by now you’re almost certainly not reading this blog because you’re expecting it to make sense.
Gw2Rs: Oxfam Girl? What the hell are you doing here? I’m supposed to be writing a science fiction novel in a month, to say nothing of the other side projects I have on the go. I haven’t got time to waste writing made-up adventures for some imaginary girlfriend I haven’t seen since I was in Europe.
Oxfam Girl: Shhh. I need your help, Sugar.
Gw2Rs: I am not your sugar. What’s wrong?
Oxfam Girl: I think someone’s trying to kill me.
Gw2Rs: What makes you say that?
Oxfam Girl: The last three nights I’ve been visited by a mysterious stranger who does nothing except say “your time has come” and then disappear.
Gw2Rs: Wow. That is mysterious. What does this stranger look like?
Oxfam Girl: Sometimes she’s wearing a jet black robe with a dark hood.
Gw2Rs: Sounds about right.
Oxfam Girl: Other times she’s wearing red bathers.
Oxfam Girl: I don’t know. You have a weird imagination.
Gw2Rs: Me? I’m not the one who… yeah okay, whatever. Why is she trying to kill you?
Oxfam Girl: That’s what we’re going to find out. Follow me.
Gw2Rs: Where are we going?
Oxfam Girl: Wherever we have to. Just hold this quokka and think of home.
Gw2Rs: … ? … No.
We teleported anyway. Next thing I knew we were standing on an ominously jagged cliff top in the middle of a thunderstorm. Very dramatic. A bolt of lightning out over the ocean revealed the woman in black standing a few feet from us. Before I even had a chance to start writing a witty and internally asynchronous introductory monologue for her, she calmly walked over and pushed Oxfam Girl off the edge.
“We’ll always have Paris!” yelled Oxfam Girl as she vanished into the blackness. I don’t think I ever wrote about her in Paris, but that’s women for you.
“That wasn’t very sporting,” I said indignantly.
“Who said I was going to play fair?” asked the woman in black, as with a nonchalant flick of her head she slipped back her hood revealing…
TO BE CONTINUED
Because I’m really supposed to be working on my Nanowrimo story right now.