Yes, there is.
And, apparently, it’s…
Last night was another of those evenings where the menfolk kept pestering me about their electronic devices. It’s as if the minute they see me open my WIP to get some writing done, they conspire to sidetrack me. And it’s always those devious electronic devices that stump my guys.
We’ll begin with The Boy (who, at 20, probably deserves a new nickname by now, but I’m not ready to call him The Man, thankyouverymuch.)
Let me set the stage. I’m sitting in my bedroom with my laptop, writing. My hero is just about to find out the heroine’s big secret from a secondary character who’s a blabbermouth. The Boy knocks on my door and enters.
Boy: Is your cable okay?
Me: Seems fine. Why?
Boy: Because ever since we had that power outage yesterday, my television’s been skitchy.
Me: Did you reboot the box?
Boy: I’m trying to watch the hockey game and the picture keeps wobbling. I think it’s the connection in the attic.
Me: We just replaced the connection in the attic a month ago, remember? So unless you’ve been hanging out up there, playing with the wires, or the cats have grown opposable thumbs, I doubt that’s the issue. Have you rebooted the box?
Boy (muttering): Great. I’ll just get a headache from watching the wobbly picture.
I leave my hero sitting with the blabbermouth who hasn’t yet blabbed and follow my apprentice martyr into his room. I reboot the box, which, of course, solves the problem. Lo and behold! I am a genius!
One last glare in my son’s direction and I return to my room to settle down with my manuscript, ready to get my hero and heroine immersed in their black moment. Naturally, I’m interrupted again. This time, it’s the Hubster, who stalks into the room to inform me he’s still having problems accessing his voicemail on his cell–a fact I was unaware of, but apparently, I should have surmised this based on…
I dunno. I got nothin’.
Hubster: One of these days, you’re gonna have to fix that for me. It’s frustrating to see all these calls and not know if it’s important because I can’t play the message.
Me (with a heavy sigh): Bring me your phone.
(He hands me the phone and I ask him what the problem is.)
Hubster: I told you. I can’t access my voicemail.
Me: Why not? (I hit the voicemail button. It shows he has ten unheard messages. I choose one, hit play, and voila! It plays. No problem.)
Hubster: Hey! You fixed it.
Me: Yeah, how about that?
This is why I always worry when I travel that I will return home to find my boys huddled around the blackened remains of my house, trying to open a can of peas with a sharp rock. It could happen.
With conference season in full swing, I’m about to have some sleepless nights. But at least I’ll get some writing done!