Miggs sat back and looked over the text. She’d taken care of the mechanics, those things a writer has to do correctly or the layout won’t come out right for an eBook although it does work out better for a book in print. Still, she knew she’d have to read it over to make sure it followed. Who knows what else could occur to her as she read. Then there were her notes, those things she’d jot down in a small notebook as they occurred to her, different events, little things from life in general, side stories all that were aligning into some form of outline of things she wanted to include and, the big and, how exactly did she want this book to turn out? She wasn’t sure yet still doubting her ability to write pure fiction. Just because that Jung Test that categorized her as a bulwark of strength CEO that should steer away from fiction said so, there was no reason to swallow it hook, line and sinker. It’s like a horoscope, especially when you share two signs because you were born on a cusp. Not all the characteristics are you. Miggs thought of her Indian friend who turned out to not be much of a friend after she’d gone through all her books checking out Miggs characteristics, moons, and whatever else then flipping out as if Miggs was going to turn into some kind of monster. She’d read them over and told her friend “no, this isn’t me… I wouldn’t do that” but her friend packed up her family and took them back to the reservation.
“I wonder what I was supposed to become. Having horns and a long pointy tail, would be uncomfortable.” Miggs was becoming fatigued from writing. She decided to do her few yoga stretches and see how everything looked in the morning. “I’m developing quite a collection of poems – I wonder if I shouldn’t put them together into another book. Ah, who’d want to read it anyway?” On that note she went to bed. As soon as she got comfortable, she had to get up one last time. Making her way back to her room she thought about something she’d read from another author who’d exhorted to find someone to read your manuscript for feedback. She thought of a friend she knew she could depend on who, sadly, had passed away not all that long ago. “How am I going to give you my manuscript to read so you can tell me how to go about marketing it? Marketing, I shouldn’t even think about that. The book isn’t anywhere near close to being done.” “Séance” drifted through her mind. Why was it such a frightening thought? She dreamt she was walking on dry leaves without making a sound but it was for her life. She kept chanting, “Walking on dry leaves she made not a sound. One crackle will bring him…” There was noise in the background. The neighbors must’ve let their dog out off the leash like they weren’t supposed to and now they were screaming for her to come back. When she came-to Miggs heard drunken laughter. “Great. Right outside the window.” The dog came back and the party went back inside. “Thanks. I didn’t like that dream anyway.” She drifted back to sleep.
By morning the writing bug had bitten again so she wanted to get right down to it. Miggs thought about her characters and how she was going to tie them together to stand up to this one evil she’d decided to name Agon who in reality was a friend of her first-boyfriend-first-ex-husband and a really nice guy. Anyway, how was she going to do this?