The Bestseller
She liked dreaming-
they kept her busy.
As an attempt, she set to dream a dream,
but this time it was of a literary variety-
what of all those people asking her to write,
she decided, a novel it would be
and a full fledged one at that.
But endless dishes and laundry kept her from the mighty pen,
and she loathed the humdrum of her grey laptop keys.
(A Mac book pro, some day, she wistfully mused)
Determined to write anyhow, she resolved to do it her way,
while simultaneously performing dismal chores,
she penned the bestseller in her mind.
Contrary to what she had presumed at the outset,
the means to put together her novel , came to pass as much fun.
She’d be assiduously fighting the cobwebs and a lethal spider,
while in her mind, the hero mercilessly beat the goons .
As she deftly got the tadka sizzling with red chillies,
she orchestrated a steamy scene.
The protagonist blew bubbles at her lover,
while her toddler splashed water in the bubble bath,
Her favourite was while she did dishes,
the more she scrubbed, the longer the fight scenes between the couple got,
and the wretched frying pan, came out all clean.
(Sure, the couple made up too).
However it was a cause of much embarrassment,
when she drifted into her fantasy world penning a faux dialogue.
The guest invited for tea asked questions, only to be stared back blankly,
with a wide beaming smile.
Insulted, the guest declared the host deaf,
and much worse, nuts.
But she worked hard,
and the harder she worked at the wearisome chores,
the more imaginative and descriptive, her story got.
She was pleased.
She ended each day with work left for the next,
and in her mind words and unfinished sentences floated,
like strange verses.
Soon, she was tired, and wanted everything to halt-
meaning well, she wanted the story to end,
but the elusive climax never did come.
Sighing, she got up to vacuum,
and bitterly brooded, that’s how it was schemed to be.
These dreary chores will never end,
and the imaginary book,
likewise, will remain one-
unfinished and illusory.
Next morning as she embarked on making an omelette,
she broke open the hero’s skull,
almost spitefully.
Comments
Then don't blame me for all the violence!
IK: Ahem, sleaze? Blowing bubbles is not sleaze! Objection mylord.
and starry eyed, thanks. very few appreciate the humour, a friend I know calls my so called humour 'queer'.
:)) thanks my blogger friends for liking even the most mundane and average of posts. What would I have done without u?
Indy : thank you, lady. You bring much sunshine to my life with your comments.