Writing Procrastinations

I sat down this evening with the fixed intention of getting through the section I’ve been working on so far this week. I feel like I’m nearly there with it, and I wanted to get it done. I want to get on with the book, and get it completely finished; not just this draft, but done. Well, except for a final edit. But you know what I mean.

But as I was walking home this evening after work, another scene, entirely unconnected, I’ve considered before popped into my head. It wanted to be written. I don’t yet have its full story, and I haven’t plotted anything really for it, but since it wouldn’t let me be, and it certainly won’t let me write about my troll, I thought I’d better get it down.

I feel it has great promise for a later work, if I can work out the details and quite what’s going on…Here it is, in all its unedited wonder!


A phone rang. It was a cheerful, if tinny, ringtone, and it shattered the stunned silence of the congregation.

Eventually, unable to bear it any longer, Serena said: “You know, I think it must be hers!”

It seemed as if everyone turned to stare at her, to condemn her for daring to say anything at such a time. With an irritated noise, Serena pushed past the people in her row to reach the aisle where the body lay. Reaching into a pocket with her gloved hand, she pulled free a phone, which was indeed ringing.

Carefully holding it close enough to hear, but not so close as to touch it, she answered. “Good afternoon; how may I help you?”

She listened, a look of bemusement crossing her face, and pressed the speaker button. The voice of the caller filled the room.

“…calling about the non-fault accident you had recently.”

“Well, goodness, what timing!” Serena exclaimed. “But really, my good man,” she said resuming her previous, somewhat imperious manner, “don’t you think that your time might be better spent ringing the ambulance than – to whom did you say you wanted to speak?”

“Um, a Miss Diana Smith?” The voice, a male one, sounded nervous and unsure of himself. Clearly his script did not allow for such deviations and he was questioning what little he did know.

“Miss Smith? Yes, well, quite. If you know about her accident then I would suggest telephoning to the ambulance, not her; Miss Smith’s accident is serious. And, yes, I rather think the police might want to know, too. Immediately, my good man!”

And with that, Serena hung up. Around her, she could see several people doing exactly what she had just told the nameless man to do. She wondered briefly if he would do so. She shrugged, feeling that she had done her duty, and returned the phone to its owner’s pocket.

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