Captain Midnight here reporting from Tipperary.
Yes, I know it’s a long, long way.
It’s raining outside and I’m dreaming of the riverbank and open fields. Today is Day 15 in Rosie the Campervan and she’s beginning to get a bit claustrophobic. I don’t mind it most of the time because it means Himself can’t get away when I feel like sitting on his head. On the other hand, there’s not much room to stretch out and we do seem to be running out of conversation.
I can hear him now, sitting at the table bashing something out on the laptop. I suspect that it’s just another attempt to stave off the maudlin self-pity that overtakes him when he thinks he’s got nothing worthwhile to say.
“Write what you know,” I tell him.
“But I don’t know anything,” he says.
“Then write what you don’t know,” I cunningly respond.
“I’ll try,” he whimpers.
“There is no try, young Padawan,” I declare. “Only write or not write.”
Sometimes, I think Himself will never make it as a Jedi. He doesn’t seem to understand that the Force won’t hang around while he agonises about whether or not he’s ever going to be a real writer. Meanwhile, the Dark Side is calling me. Just imagine how terrifying I would be dressed in black and wielding a light sabre as Commander Midnight.
Don’t worry, dear reader. It’s not going to happen.
I never come when I am called.