‘That’s the worst dam I’ve ever seen. And your water’s defying gravity.”
I overcame the notion of slapping her senseless and reminding her that she’d never seen a dam in her entire short and wouldn’t know gravity if she walked into it, but as she’s just bought one of my books I let it go and eradicated the dam for a dolphin, her fave animal after her beloved nags.
I don’t know how many writers out there have tried to get their so-called family to read any of their work but for me it’s been impossible upto now. And she’ll probably never read it anyway.
‘Daddy’s little hobby‘ is how they laughingly refer to my writing and latterly daubing, and makes it sound as if I’m doing something both immoral and illegal in my writing room. And no matter that I’ve been struggling with it for over twenty five years (long before the little brat was born) I still find it impossible to induce them to read my stuff.
“Just tell me if it’s any good, and then I’ll change it if you think it’s bad”, I tried a few times to a conspiratorial sneer between them. But even that didn’t work. Luckily I’ve found some good people, who with a reciprocal arrangement, read my stuff and tell me just how awful it is before I publish.
“And your rocks are totally awful,” giggled my spawn half an hour later, “and I wouldn’t set foot on that sand; it looks terrible,” as she prepared to go off and do whatever it is young people do at night. I can’t remember; it feels as if I’ve been stuck in this room writing rubbish and painting awful dams for decades.