Official WTF thread: The wierdest conversation ever,,,

Thanks for that.

Well, I am a lazy one, when it comes to finishing up. I probably need a muse.

Their's one with 27 chapters I was writing with my hubby, before he died; working title: "Gods and their Bitches." It was loosely based upon his life as a failed rock musician and composer, flitted away by EMI, finally doomed to be CBGB's sound engineer for the next decade, mixing bands that used to open for his. Terrible mental agony, that. Lots of booze to temper woe and despair.

In our highly romantacized version, the central character is much the sought after slut that he was. Hating his filthy rich, cold father, this only child seeks abandon, away from what he perceives to be dirty money.

The thirst for fun his life has been unquenchable, if not a rather empty pursuit.

Now the old man is dying at any moment. After some twenty years on the run, he must finally come home. The idea of inheritance is almost as troubling as facing his father after all these years.

Since everyone is waiting for that one last breath, he finds himself in the bedroom he snuck out of at age sixteen...everything just as he left it. His 12 string guitar, posters of Morrison and Hendrix. There's even a record still on the turntable, along with his extensive collection of albums. And, then he sits at his desk. Among the unfinished school reports and sheet music he was writing, he finds the flyer that Jim Morrison signed at the Whiskey when he was 14, then...photos of his first love, and, the many notes she wrote him. The flood of memories is almost too much. He will spend the next 48 hours drifting between trauma, and, vodka relief.

The epiphany will come, after secrets are revealed. The money will finally be accepted.

By the time he realizes that he doesn't really need the stuffed shirts--or, the countless 22 year old groupies-- his world takes off, in his awakened design.

He goes from someone who forgot to care, pretty much all alone in his marvelous misery, to a philanthropic music mogul, in the uncanny hands of an assistant who will be revealed as the daughter he never knew existed. Oh, along with two others that surface. "The Three Beauties."

Anyway, without my muse to fill in the needed outrageous blanks of fact into fiction, I have found myself quite stumped. It's maddening.

Thanks for the encouragement. Maybe it will inspire me.

Last Edited by esotericMorgan on 02/18/2012 01:56 AM

I hope you do get inspired to finish it. I am sorry about your husband, life can be so hard. Maybe one day, when you feel in the mood, you could ask him in your imagination. You probably know what he would say.

You are very talented it would be a shame to deprive the world of that.

What do I look like? A toaster?

Everyone knows monkeys love to wear lipstick.

Forgive me for thinking those four slots in your face were for toasting bread. I knead you to know I am sorry for also trying to butter you.

Rouge is becoming more popular among the primates. This much is true. For the sake of safety, steer clear from introducing eye shadow into their culture. I only made that mistake ONCE.

Eggplants will attempt to suffocate the tomatoes when the doom hits. Preempt their strikes and bring them in immediately. Go go go!