And so, I just got my assignment for NYC Midnight’s Short Story Challenge. And we have:
Comedy. Cooking Show. Paramedic.
I’ve been waiting impatiently for these writing orders.
Our internet connection is rather slow up here. And then there’s that annoying time-zone issue, so the assignments were out a bunch of hours before I made Neil read mine.
I make him read my important stuff first, because
husbands have all the power, I really am a giant wuss. About some things. And writing makes me nervous these days.
‘I think you can do this,’ Neil says. ‘Comedy. You’re very funny.’
‘And you like cooking shows.’
‘It’s raw because you didn’t facking cook it!’ I say, in my mediocre Gordon Ramsey voice.
‘And when you cook, we need to call the paramedics,’ Neil says.
‘You were so close,’ I say. ‘Can I use that line?’
And so. I was happy with my lot. And then I got out of bed. And thought about it. Read up on the other assignments.
I emailed my best writing friend. ‘I want your assignment. And everyone else’s.’
Because comedy is hard. Because THIS IS FUNNY BECAUSE IT’S FUNNY, DAMN IT is annoying. And not funny.
‘I’m not funny’, I say to Neil.
‘Is that a joke?’
‘OK, I’m not funny anymore.’ ‘Motherhood has made me, I dunno, obvious.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Well, yesterday I made a joke about slipping on a banana peel. Really. It was very laboured.’
‘That was yesterday.’
I don’t think you can switch assignments. So I’ll try with mine. And I’ll go easy on the Caps Lock.
P.S. If anyone else is um, doubting themselves, genre pointers can be found here.