shower of the damned

MUSE: Hey.
ME: You have got to be fucking kidding me.
MUSE: I know how it starts.
ME: Would you look at the time?
MUSE: 1:44 a.m.
ME: Yes.
MUSE: You're awake. You're showering, even.
ME: You know, sometimes I'm not showering to get ideas. In fact, usually I'm just showering because I'm, y'know, gross.
MUSE: I know how it starts.
ME: I don't care.
MUSE: Yes you do.
ME: I do not! I'm doing laundry at 1:30 a.m. I'm showering while doing laundry, which is not the most comfortable experience in the world. I've spent the entire day on the computer catching up with writing-related stuff and ignoring this disaster of an apartment, which means I'll be spending my one day of ACTUAL vacation doing housework instead of going to the botanical gardens and, y'know, relaxing.
ME: SO, I'm going to sleep!
MUSE: No you're not.
ME: Yes I am!
MUSE: Oh, quit whining, bitch.
ME: Good for you to say. Where the bleeding FUCK have you been? I had to finish MPU all by myself!
MUSE: You had Isabel.
ISABEL: *yawn* Someone mention me?
ME: No. Go back to sleep. Don't need you.
ISABEL: You were listening to sappy music earlier.
ME: That was for the party mix.
MUSE: You are SO not the party girl.
ME: Shut up! I was in college.
MUSE: I know. I was there.
ME: Sometimes. Look, will you two just shut up and let me finish my shower in peace?
MUSE: I know how it starts. With the hanging.
ME: I. Don't. Care. And they'll run me out of town on a rail. If we still have rails.
MUSE: Oh, like anyone in THAT town reads you anyway.
ME: Hey, you never know. Someone told me they overheard some stranger talking about my work in a coffeehouse. That was disconcerting.
MUSE: The hanging.
ME: Yeah. So.
MUSE: That's how it starts. Then we can go to the cemetery without seeming like we're starting at a steady plod.
ME: Hmmm.
MUSE: Aha.
ME: I need sleep!
MUSE: Fuck sleep. You're not sleeping for the next week anyway.
ME: Do you want me dead?
MUSE: *grins* Not yet.

So yeah, I wrote 1,560 words of the official rewrite of YELLOW ROSES. It now has a prologue, and I didn't get to bed until 2:24 a.m. Someone just fucking shoot me. Oh, and remind me not to schedule the final edit for the next book around Dragoncon? Please?