Arekan: So the scribe is still writing the trash that “pays the mortgage” but since it seems to keep her in coffee and milkshakes, I won’t complain too much, though I’ve heard there a bit of clamor for her to finish the Arekan’s War Series.
“Arekan,” says the scribe. “Why has your cat moved in with me.”
“I don’t have a cat.” Truth is I dislike those nasty little furballs. Hate me if you will, but they are entitled jerks and keep the humans wrapped around their tiny paws. Come and go when they please. Whine for their dinner. Gets all annoyed when you don’t clean their litter boxes. No thanks. I’d rather have a wife.
In other words, not going to happen.
It seems the culprit of the scribe’s question is the thing in the little box in the corner. She calls him Twix, which makes no sense. He is, she says a Bengal, which means that some generations back his great-great grandsire was an Asian wildcat. Humans have been cross breeding them ever since to achieve the perfect mix of domestic temperament and wild characteristics in coat, facial shape, and body structure.
“So what is it about this cat that makes you think he’s mine?”
“He attacks everything.”
Apparently, there is a fail in the breeding program.
“Even the rabbit.”
“You have a rabbit? And you haven’t eaten it?”
“Arekan, please. It’s a pet. And you kinda proved my point right there.”
“So you have a wild cat living in your house, and a pet rabbit (rolls eyes) and you wonder why there is a problem? Where did this thing come from, anyway?”
“My son found him locked in his toolshed.”
“Then you should have taken the hint.”
(Scribe sighs) “I can’t talk to you about anything.”
Yfaran Ayne (Somewhere around July 16, 2017, I think)
This first planet calendar hurts the head. I’m not even attempting to match the day because it simply does not work. So you just have the season and the month. Anyway, there is some progress on the scribe front. Oh, she’s still writing trash, and gets jobs for more trash with amazing regularity.
Scribe: Just because what I’m writing not your story doesn’t make my work trash. If I don’t eat I don’t get to write.
See. Entirely difficult. BUT, she did write a very nice piece called Arekan Saves the Universe for her online writer’s group for their monthly challenge. She quite rightly made me very amusing, which I am most days when I’m not in death-dealing-rouge mode. Oh yeah, my daughter, Kelleen, is in there as a toddler. And she has a few choice lines, though, as a rule, while toddlers babble, they don’t say much. Except for Kelleen. Anyway, the story placed third out of the monthly entries, so not bad.
>Date: San-Tanaran Eve (or thereabouts) (May 20, 2017)
That’s the best I can approximate dates between the Scribe’s homeworld calendar and Kyn’s. If you ask me hers is a crazy calendar. They add a day every four years to it. I ask her why they don’t use the moon like any normal civilization and she gives me one of those looks, like it’s useless to tell me anything.
Maybe I’ll find a new scribe.
But then again, it’s so very fun to watch her face twist when I say something that she disapproves of.
The Scribe’s been busy, earning a living, she says. She’s written about 1000 words on Pirate’s Luck and nothing else on my story, which is a damned inconvenience. She replies that if the stories I already told her sold better she wouldn’t have to write other people’s stories for them. What can I do? And I shouldn’t feel bad because she hasn’t worked on anything else of hers. I call bull pucks and point to the blog posts she writes, which, she spits back don’t count.