Writing Fiction posted December 7, 2017


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A writer is invited to a surprise intervention.

The Intervention

by Mary Mack

The author has placed a warning on this post for language.

When I pulled into Kathy's driveway, I could see that her other guests had already arrived and suddenly became nervous about the whole affair. It had been far too long, months in fact, since I'd been out of the house. Writing my fourth novel takes time. They say that Ernest Hemingway took days, sometimes weeks, agonizing over just one sentence. Thank god, Kathy and my closest friends--all of whom will be here tonight for a Christmas dinner--understood this. I wouldn't be able to make any progress on my new book if I didn't have their support. I'm SO very lucky.

I was filled with childlike anticipation when Kathy opened the front door and invited me in. I love the smell of a turkey roasting in the oven and could hardly wait to get a sniff. But, oddly enough, it didn't smell like turkey at all...it smelled more like...oh no, cat! How embarrassing for Kathy. I made a mental note to pull her aside, later on, and remind her it was time to change the kitty litter.

"Hi, Kathy." I handed her a bottle of my favorite dry Riesling and removed my coat and hat. "Thanks again for inviting me to dinner. It's been years since I was invited to someone else's house for Christmas."

She didn't respond.

But hosting a party for ten is terribly stressful. Poor thing. I should have insisted on helping her. Obviously, she could have used my help, I thought, as I passed through the house and noticed neither music playing nor goodies set out for her guests to enjoy. Wow, this was shocking. Hosting a Party 101 completely ignored.

But my biggest surprise came when I entered the living room and saw all the long faces. Oh no, was Kathy's husband boozing again? And here I brought a bottle of wine. I wish Kathy would tell me these things.

"Olivia," Kathy began. "We are all here because we love you."

"Well, I love you guys, too, Kathy," I said. "What's going on?" I looked around the room where my friends stood, facing me, blank expressions on their faces.

"It's your writing..."

"What about my writing?" I asked.

"Well, honey, it's really not very good. And, well, we thought you should hear it from us, the people who love you, because you know that writing group of yours would never do the same. Besides, we never see you anymore. You're always off writing somewhere."

"Oh, I see," I said as I sat down on the sofa. "Thank you. I appreciate your candor, Kathy."

"Oh, Olivia!" Kathy said, as she took a seat next to me and put her arm around my shoulder. "I'm so happy you understand. We were all so worried this would get awkward, or that you would take it the wrong way."

"Don't be silly, Kathy. Why would it be awkward? It's just my blood dripping from the pages that I write."

Then I glared at Mary Manson, the slut. Everyone knew that she hosted orgies in her basement for strangers on Tuesday nights but I, for one, pretended not to notice. And then there was Kevin, the coward, standing in the corner still not making eye contact with me. I knew that he was the Peeping Tom in the neighborhood but, again, I kept my mouth shut.

I stood up and walked into the kitchen and grabbed my bottle of Riesling off of the table. Waldo was right, I thought as I popped off the cork; people do suck. I took a big swig from the bottle and put my coat and hat back on. "So long, motherfuckers!" I yelled, as I opened the front door, bottle of Riesling tucked safely under my left arm. "And another thing, Kathy..." I leaned far into the house. "Your house smells like goddamn cat piss!"


Writing writing prompt entry
Writing Prompt
Write a story or essay with the topic of "writing". Can be instructional or a character in the story can be a writer. Creative approaches welcomed.


I, for one, have often wondered what my friends and family really think about my writing. Luckily, I've never experienced anything like this!
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© Copyright 2017. Mary Mack All rights reserved.
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