You know that thing where you have a manuscript to finish, that’s waiting for you, that’s holding it’s breath (that’s a metaphor – manuscripts don’t breathe, only Real Live books do), just waiting for the final touches to be put on it? And then, then you have this funny realization that Every Single fortune cookie you’ve ever opened had a crap fortune inside it? And that that would make a great, great character trait for someone who is NOT in the current novel?
Yeah. That.
In fact, I have probably gotten good fortunes in my life. Just not within my memory. In fact, last week when we celebrated my birthday, my parents and sisters and I ate Chinese (at Shoots, yum) and half of the table had to leave before fortune cookie time. So we tried a little experiment. I cracked open a cookie (which, at Shoots, is dipped in dark chocolate, because why not?) and read this:
“You wil make many changes before settling satisfactorily.”
Um?
Really?
Not even “happily?”
Just “satisfactorily?”
Thanks, anyway.
So I took another one.
“Focus on your long-term goal.”
Thanks, Mom.
And again, because Dad left early to go teach a class, missing his chocolate-dipped “fortune”:
“Listen these next few days to your friends to get answers you seek.”
Noted.
Oy.
But were they all like that? Oh, no. Julie’s was awesome – something about delirious joy and romance. I’ve blocked it out of my mind, if you can imagine. Husbands are always, always good — promising dollars-and-cents fortunes.
But I get advice cookies. And, frankly, not very great advice. And when I think about it, I sort of get in a huff. Not enough to stop eating Chinese, but maybe enough to start bringing my own pieces of paper to shove inside the cookies.
“Size 8 jeans are just around the corner for you.”
“Your wit and charm will continue to stun and stupefy all you meet.”
“Your husband thinks you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, and he is absolutely right.”
“All calories from lemon chicken are hereby negated.”
“Your children will act like perfect angels for the next seventy-two hours, we promise.”
See? It’s not that hard. Maybe I’m in the wrong business…
No. Wait. I’m not. This is the perfect business for a disgruntled fortune-cookie receiver. Just as soon as I finish Ivie’s story, I’m going to use this. Somehow. (I’m sensing revenge for the lame-fortuned. Stay tuned.)
(12) Comments for this blog
Don’t you love it when a great idea strikes?
Don’t you love it when a great idea strikes?
hahahaha! Just laughed so hard! It really was ironic…and funny! Even the littlest one’s fortune was something fantastic! Can’t wait to read about your new character…even if I have to wait a while!
hahahaha! Just laughed so hard! It really was ironic…and funny! Even the littlest one’s fortune was something fantastic! Can’t wait to read about your new character…even if I have to wait a while!
I want the size 8 jeans fortune! *eyes closed fingers crossed*
I want the size 8 jeans fortune! *eyes closed fingers crossed*
You SHOULD write fortune cookies. I wonder what mine would be? I’ll give you a fortune:
“Your books will alternately delight and infuriate readers–but always end in delight.”
Except that already came true. I’ll never forget shouting at the MC while reading MRRO because I could SEE how much the boy loved her. Punk. =P
You SHOULD write fortune cookies. I wonder what mine would be? I’ll give you a fortune:
“Your books will alternately delight and infuriate readers–but always end in delight.”
Except that already came true. I’ll never forget shouting at the MC while reading MRRO because I could SEE how much the boy loved her. Punk. =P
i like. we should write this one together.
love ya!
i like. we should write this one together.
love ya!
I want the size 8 jeans too, but perhaps I want lemon chicken more…
I know that I suddenly want to write. Thanks for that!
I want the size 8 jeans too, but perhaps I want lemon chicken more…
I know that I suddenly want to write. Thanks for that!