(Scene opens to show Deb curled up in a red chair, eyes on the book in her lap.)
COMPUTER: Psst. Deb! Over here!
DEB: What? I’m reading.
COMPUTER: But you haven’t written anything in days.
DEB: Sure I have. Don’t you remember that email? And I wrote a couple posts on Ravelry. Now, be quiet. This is a good part.
COMPUTER: But what about your blog posts?
DEB: Oh, blog readers are patient. They don’t expect a post every day, or anything.
COMPUTER: No, but one a week isn’t too much to ask. And, what about your book?
DEB: Yes, I’m trying to read my book, and this is a crucial scene, so if you wouldn’t mind….
COMPUTER: Not that book. The one you’re writing. Sara and Adam trying to build an orphanage/school during WWI, all while Sara keeps a deep dark secret from Adam about his father?
DEB: I got stuck on the timeline and haven’t found the time to work it out. But it’s 1917, a gentler time. There’s really no rush. It’s not like I’ve found a publisher for the first book, after all, so nobody knows who Sara and Adam ARE yet, anyway.
COMPUTER: Yeah … that’s another thing. If you don’t send out queries and find an agent, how will anybody know about the widow and orphan who survived the Titanic disaster and decided they wanted to become their own family?
DEB: Nag, nag. You just want to torture me and make my eyes hurt looking at your screen for another several hours. Didn’t I just spend 8 hours on my computer at the day job? Don’t I deserve a break? My eyes are killing me and reading is just what they need.
COMPUTER: That’s what touch-typing is for, Deb. Now put the book down and get over here.
DEB: I suppose I could see what’s happening on Twitter….