Rain pelted the windshield on my gyrocopter as I lifted off from home. It became snow before I landed at the writing cabin. I struggled with the stick to keep it on the runway, but eventually got it onto the elevator and into the basement.
Lisa* was down there shoveling out the stables. She had on coveralls, red rubber boots, and a red bandana in her hair. The yak waited patiently outside his stall.
“Shouldn't yak guy be doing that?” I asked.
“Probably, but he's kind of needy,” Lisa said.
“Let me guess, he told you he'd do it later,” the yak said.
“Exactly. He's up there sleeping on your couch. He drank all your beer, and ate all the food I picked up for your lunch.”
I scratched my head. “Maybe I'll write him off a cliff today.”
“Would you?” Lisa said.
“I've already pushed him off a ledge,” the yak said. “It helped, briefly.”
“Some of this is my fault,” I admitted. “It has to do with his character journey. Lazy entitled parasite, becomes functional human.”
“When is he going to be functional?” Lisa asked.
“I can't rush that part. That's why the yak is so engaging. He carries the story for now.”
Lisa hugged the yak. “You're so cute and fluffy. You're smart too.”
“Someone has to be smart in this story,” I added. “Remember, I'm basing it off the fool's journey. I have to start with the fool.”
“Well then, try to write a bunch of it today,” Lisa said. “It would be nice if he could pick up after himself, or even do a dish or two.”
I went upstairs and found yak guy in my office. A dirty plate and cup sat on the coffee table, and he was curled up on my couch with his dirty shoes on.
“Hey, get up. Put your dishes away, and get your shoes off my furniture.”
“I'm sleeping, besides, that's what the maid's for.”
“I don't have a maid.”
“Then who's the babe?”
“She's my assistant, and she's going to kick your ass if you don't take care of some of this.”
“I'll do it later.”
I sat at my desk and turned on my iPad. The new keyboard snapped into place and I started writing. The first thing I did, was write Yak Guy's shoes out of my writing cabin.
He rolled over and tucked his feet against the back of the couch. I wrote his pants and shirt away too.
“What the hell, man?”
“Put your dishes away and clean up after yourself. If you can manage that, you can have your stuff back.”
“That's bullshit. I told you I'd do it later.”
“My next trick is to invite Mr. Freckle over from a book I wrote called Arson. He eats people that move too slow.”
He jumped up, grabbed his plate, and stomped off toward the kitchen. Writing this story could be quite the adventure.
*Lisa Burton is my assistant. She's also a robot, and spokesmodel for Entertaining Stories.
PS: Lots of words today. They aren't exactly good words, but there are a lot of them.