Stilled life

Today, I decided to live the sweet, cushy life of mylifetake2 and work out of my house all day long. I had a lot of web stuff to do, and it really is easier to be isolated, without the phone ringing or people coming to visit my office.

So, at eight, I woke up, turned over in bed, picked up the yellow legal pad where I keep my rough draft of "The Late Night Show," and started writing for an hour before work. I wrote until I reached a point where one of my characters is stabbed in the stomach several times. Then, I had to put the notepad down. Work beckoned.

Around five, my mind started to drift back to my story, and I got to wondering.

How did my character feel, sprawled out on that floor all day long, bathing in a puddle of blood?

The least I could have done was to kill the character off. But no, I had to be selfish, and just leave the scene where it was. Leave the poor slob dangling on the precipice.

And now I'm sitting her, typing this. And soon, Corb and the kids will be home, and I'll have to do the family thing. In fact, I may not get back to my poor character until midnight tonight!

Is there an imaginary character 911 hotline? And if there is, do you think Luigi Pirandello answers the phone?