Slice of Life 24:
I’m recruiting help today. I’m too full to think straight and I’m cheating. I just pathetically begged my 9 year old son, “Come on… you got plenty of ideas. Help me out.” Every idea I initially employ, falls flat on its face, “You’re fired.” (coupled with a Donald Trump point for effect).
Hold on. Let me ask again.
“Come on Mike. Give me a character.”
“Steve?” He looks over and views the screen of my laptop. “Wait you can write about what we’re talking about right now!” I nod and smile. “I gotta go to the bathroom.” And he runs away.
“Mike, come on.” Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Lazy brain loving this genius idea.
“Did you get down what I said? There once lived a guy named Steve.”
“Remember your figurative language!” I kindly remind him, calling out. He’s out of the bathroom, I feel I should mention, but now sitting in the dining room.
“There once was a guy named Steve. He was very glee.”
“Yes, glee. You don’t know what glee is?”
“Yes but do you mean he is very full of glee?”
“Fine. There once was a guy named Steve. He was very full of glee. He always used his imagination, like it was his life.”
“Tell me about Steve.”
“He has brown hair and blue eyes like a bluejay. He once played a video game that was called Minecraft.”
“Really that’s where you’re going to go?” (He plays this game all the time.. Just thought I’d encourage a little more of a stretch, but now that he’s sitting next to me reading these very words as I write, I am feeling a little guilty about jumping on him about his idea. I’m sorry Mike. Continue.)
“Ok. He played Minecraft all the time. 25 hours a day. Wait how about 26 hours a day actually.”
“You do know that there are only 24 hours in a day, right?”
“Yeah, that’s why I said 25. Or 26.”
“So you’re exaggerating?”
“Nice touch. Go on.”
“He was playing Minecraft on a Tuesday. One bad luck Tuesday, his hands got stuck to the keyboard and he got sucked into the blocky cyber world. He thought he was dreaming,” he continues, as he’s correcting each misspelled word I type. “Steve got some wood. He began to make a house. It was like a little barn or something. It turned out to be good.”
“No you can’t use good.”
“It turned out to be wonderful. Until the night ship came.. He was in a cave,” (He’s whispering to himself as I type btw, drafting his story. I like it.) “Ok, until he ran out of tools, to slay the monsters that prey upon him.”
“Ooo.. I like that.”
“Then he found a diamond sword in a chest below him, to use to slay the Herobrine and his monster minions. It was a face to face battle. Herobrine and Steve. Herobrine takes the win for a couple of seconds, then,”
“Can you use a transition here? Like suddenly, in no time, or something like that?”
“…then, out of nowhere, Steve finds a pick ax. They’re on a bridge and the lava is flowing under them. Then Steve secretly makes his final move.”
“He breaks the block under Herobrine. Then Herobrine falls into the burning lava like an asteroid falling from the sky! Finally, the mighty Herobrine has burned to his dust. After Steve did that, he felt a little weird, so he started to transport back to his bedroom and his little comfy bed where it was still warm for him. And he lived…”
“Wait… wait.. are you going to end it like that? Using that cliché?”
“Yeah, He lived happily ever after. Or did he? That’s it.”
He gives me a thumbs up and a smile.
I give the world….the art of, Mother Son Story Drafting. I highly recommend it.
“Thank you. I love it baby.”
“Me too. Love you too.”