I’m on the final count-down finishing a manuscript.The other day I jokingly e-mail my brother, who is working on his manuscript, that I should lock myself in my office and have my husband pass food through the crack until my novel is done.You know what they say, be careful what you wish for…Wednesday night I am happily typing away, words flow like– molasses off a spoon. I stand up to stretch. I hear the sounds of the Atlanta Braves game my husband has on in the living room. “Crack, roar” Oops, wrong fans cheering,(They are losing…again). I glance through the little glass window in my office door (it’s probably thirty years old, but very quaint). A cold root beer will be good right about now.I turn the door handle and nothing happens. I push the little button, off, on, turn again. Nothing. O.K. I laugh to myself. Ooh, I might be locked in. How funny would that be? I jiggle the door handle. I rattle the door handle. I kick the door. By this time I am not giggling. “Trip, trap” Charlie our dog comes in the adjoining sun room through her doggie door. “Charlie, go get your Daddy!” I have visions of Lassie, bounding through the field to save Timmy.
Charlie however, is no Lassie. She looks at me with her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth, and walks back outside through the doggie door. I guess she has better things to do than to save the one who FEEDS her.
I bang the door loudly with the palm of my hand.”Boom”, My husband yells though the roar of the Braves game, “Do you need help?”
“Um,” I yell back, pressing my lips to the glass window.”YEAH,I’M LOCKED IN!”
A screwdriver and hacksaw later, I’m free. My hero. He has to sacrifice the thirty year-old door handle though.
Next time I’m tempted to exaggerate what lengths I will go to in order to finish a manuscript, I’ll think twice. Who knows, I could end up worse than being locked in a room. Now that I know I don’t have Lassie to rescue me!