Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 8

When I see Ms. Wildstar on my desktop, I’m only mildly relieved. “Been awhile. Where have you been?”

“Hanging out with Nekar. Why?”

“Why did he and Glicfip switched days? Was he too busy hanging out with you? Speaking of which, I know you two always seem to be near each other, but hanging out? Really?”

She shrugs. “Glicfip had to get a haircut on his assigned day. You know how he is with looking good.”

I have to wonder if Nekar has been coaching her. She’s awfully nonchalant if she is truly hiding something.

“With Xander gone, I needed someone to talk to. Glicfip and Delilah are often busy. All Trala does is rave about the dust bunnies and the boys-who-don’t-get-blown-up are rather attached to one another.”

“As in tied or glued together or attached?”

“Yeah, that.” She cocks her head and a sly smile creeps across her face. “You didn’t know? I thought you knew everything about all of us.”

“I do.” For the most part, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I was just making sure they’d not fallen into a vat of glue or tangle of masking tape when the dove off my desk the other day.”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you have a question for today or did you just come up here to annoy me?”

“What’s your word count? It’s supposed to be 13,336 today.”

“Well, it’s not 13,336. I did manage to squeak in over 10k last night thanks to some word wars. Weekends and Mondays are not good writing times for me. Too many people at home and too many obligations to juggle. Today, I should be able to pound out some words.

“Famous last words?” She smirks

“Ha. Ha.”

“I should get going then. I wouldn’t want to distract you.” She waves and dashes to the edge of the desk.

Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 7

As I sit here, waiting at my desk, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll see Ms. Wildstar today or if she’ll scrape up yet another discarded character to stand in her place. The boys-who-don’t-get-blown-up clearly didn’t want to be up here. I really have to wonder what she’s bribing them all with.

My wondering comes to an end as I see a hand and then a head pop over the edge of the desk. “Welcome, Bulky-short-haired-hot-tempered-violet-ex-partner-who-sold-out-Ms-MC-and-caused-her-serious-emotional-harm-before-she-hunted-him-down-and-killed-him.”

He stands up and shakes out his dusty clothes. Scars from his adventures in the dark wasteland behind my desk stand out starkly on his face and arms. He scowls. “You really remembered all of that?”

“It is your name. It’s my job to remember.” I make sure my notes are covered with my hand and smile confidently. “So what question do you bring for me today?”

“I’m supposed to ask you where your favorite place to write is. But really, I wanted to ask you for a new name. This one is total crap*!”

“Now, now, no need for that. I suppose, since I gave Glicfip a new-”

“Wait, what the hell did you just say?”

“Glipfip?”

He shakes his head. “You’re cruel, you know that?”

“It’s also my job to be cruel.”

“Have you ever considered that your job requirements sound a lot like mine?”

“Can’t say that I have, but now you that mention it… Mine doesn’t pay near as well though.”

“That’s because you don’t actually have to deal with the dead bodies. You just make the rest of us do the dirty work.”

“Good point. So you want a new name? How about Bshhtvep?”

“I’ll pass. Keep the mouthful. We’ll see how long you can keep it straight.” He glances off in the distance and nods.

I spin around in my chair and scan our paper-filled surroundings. “Who are you nodding to?”

It’s far too quiet out there. The adverb crates are unattended. Ms. Wildstar’s paper stack is vacant. The corners are empty, as are the paper wad lined pathways. Not even a whisper or crinkle of paper reaches my ears.

“What are you guys up to?”

“Just doing our jobs, like you.” He smiles.

I have no idea what Ms. MC saw in this guy. He’s slimy. Not literally, that would be messy.

“Didn’t I ask you a question?” he asks.

“Um, yeah.” I keep my eyes on him and the far too quietness below. “I have this desk but I also like the freedom of not being tied to one place. I write in bed, on the couch, at the kitchen table, sometimes the stairway if it’s the one pseudo quiet place I can find in the house while still keeping in touch with what’s going on with the family. They tend to get annoyed when I shut myself away in here for hours on end. Though, I usually try to write when they’re gone because I’m more productive then.

“I’d say we’re done here. I’ll be seeing you soon.” He grins as he climbs over the edge.


*was severely edited to be all ages friendly.

Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 6

“Almighty She Who Taps the Keys, we are reporting for duty.” Twenty-six extremely pale men in dirt-colored uniforms snap to attention on the desktop.

I have to remember to give Ms. Wildstar credit for recruiting even the Barthromians in her efforts to delay her next visit. Or maybe she’s up to something. “What’s Ms. Wildstar up to these days?”

“Sorry ma’am, we weren’t written to be spies.”

“Right. What were you written for again? Oh yes, to be bad guys. So be bad and do something you weren’t written for. Come on, break the mold.”

All twenty-six of them stare at the desktop. The leader quietly says, “We don’t know how.”

“You’re worthless. All of you. Not that it should be a surprise. You’re here.” I sigh. “Fine, what’s your question?”

“What do you find most stressful about writing 50,000 words in thirty days?”

“Getting my work done when I’d rather be writing. Too often, writing wins. Which means work piles up and then I’m running around swearing at everything until I’m caught up again.”

“It’s all about time management, ma’am.”

“Yes, well, when you can find the time to be bad, you get back to me on your time management advice. Until then, you’re dismissed.”

Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 5

Two bare-chested, seventeenish looking boys peek over the desktop. “Excuse us, are we in the right place?”

“This is different. Can’t say as I’ve seen the two of you up here before. You boys-who-don’t-get-blown-up tend to stick to the corners of the room. Ms. Wildstar is really making sure you all get a turn, isn’t she?”

They nod nervously and stand at the very edge of the desk.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to blow you up again just for asking a question. Out with it.”

“What are two-” starts one boy

“Songs from your playlist that-” says the other

“You feel are connected with your novel-”

“And why?”

“Wow, you guys are a regular little interviewing duo, aren’t you? That’s really annoying. Maybe I should blow you up again.”

One backs up half a step and teeters on the edge. The other catches him, pulling him back to safety.”

“I’m kidding. Maybe.” I shuffle through the items on my desktop. “Where is that music device… Behind the Scorpius bobblehead? He says yes, but he always says yes. No. Behind this awesomely foiled sun and moon birthday card from six years ago? No. Behind my repurposed empty tissue box that holds pens and pencils? No. Oooh that’s right. I don’t have one. I write in silence. I love silence. How the heck am I supposed to hear you guys yammering in my head if I have music playing?”

The boys yelp and fling themselves over the edge.

Victims of the Knife: The NaNo Interviews 4

Good-looking-cocky-fighter-pilot-that-once-slept-with-Ms-MC-and-was-violently-killed by-Mr-MC sits on the edge of my desktop, panting. “That’s a long climb up.”

“Been awhile since you’ve been up here. You should spend less time ogling Delilah and more time exercising.”

“I exercise with Delilah all the time.” He winks.

“And she weighs all of, what, a hundred pounds after downing a sheet cake? You might want to try something with a little more resistance now and then. And no, I’m not talking about broadening your sexual exploits.”

“Oh come on, look at me, I’m ripped. I don’t need weights.”

“That’s because I wrote you that way. Keep dining on fantasy ‘food’ and I’ll have to write you some bigger clothes. Don’t you have a question you’re supposed to ask me?”

Good-looking-cocky-fighter-pilot-that-once-slept-with-Ms-MC-and-was-violently-killed by-Mr-MC pulls out a paper from his pocket. “Yeah, why do I have this hideous name when the other characters you’ve pulled out of here for their names have vanished?”

“Because I’m She Who Taps the Keys, that’s why.”

He crosses his arms and taps his foot. “Oh look, I’m He Who Taps His Foot.”

“Fine. Because I recycled other aspects of their characters along with their names, but I haven’t had a need for a playboy fighter pilot. You’re stuck here in character purgatory, buddy.”

“Then I demand a new name before I ask my all important question.”

“Uhh. How about Glcfp. That encompasses enough to help me remember who you are without being such a mouthful.”

“Seriously? Glcfp? How do you even pronounce that?”

I grab my sharpie and fill out a new nametag. After slapping it on his chest I lean back and look him over. “Yep. That works. You are hereby known as, Glicfip.”

“You realize that’s still horrible, right?”

“Take it or leave it, Glicfip. Ask your question already.”

“What is the genre of your novel and why did you choose it?”

“I chose it because it’s a sequel and I kinda need it to be the same genre. Which is sci-fi by the way.”

“Fair enough. Can I be excused before I end up with an even stupider name?”

I wave my sharpie marker at him. “Probably a good idea.”