That One Time I...

… Had A (Fictional) Meetup To Discuss A New Writing Project, Finale

NOTE: Please read the two prior entries before you finish the finale or else none of it will make sense. — Robzilla.

“You really need to get your shit together,” I lecture 25 year old me as if he’s my son. 

“I know,” he sighs. The faraway looks in his eyes confirm my advice flowed from one end of his skull to the other unobstructed.

“I’m serious,” I tell him with the urgency of a man that knows his future. “You need to find yourself a good paying job that you love and then do whatever it takes to excel at it. I guarantee that alone will help you focus on what really matters in life.”

“And then what?” he sneers in defiance, as expected. “I’m still going to have my fun. Maybe even more of it.” Part of me wants to scream at him to use protection, but the truth is everyone sitting at this table has a loathe/hate relationship with condoms that I won’t go into. I do know that he will change his tune about relationships in roughly two years, so I let this mini tantrum pass as if it didn’t happen.

“About four years from now,” I calmly reply with past experience backing me up. “You’re going to meet a wonderful older woman that’s the polar opposite of the ex-fiancee that’s making you so militantly single. She’s blonde with blue eyes, is very tall…”

“Now you’ve got my attention,” 25 year old me interrupts. Or is that his libido speaking? The truth is, that version of me is a lucky bastard. He hardly ever had to worry about asking women out because they typically made the first move. It just happened to be a coincidence that most of them were usually taller than us and blonde, both naturally and peroxide. To be fair, I should congratulate both of them for always being faithful whenever they were in a relationship.

“This woman also has a tender heart that’s just as big,” I continue. “And when she wants to take things to the next level, please don’t get scared or hesitate. Roll with it, even if you have to relocate and start over in your career. I’m not saying she’s the one that got away, but we’ll never know for sure unless you have the courage to find out.”

“Yeah,” 30 year old me sighs. We turn to look at him, and I notice his gaze centers on the table surface. His slumped posture tells me he’s still practicing kickball on his own derrière a year after the fact. I hold him faultless. Societal pressures to get married and either have or raise children weigh on him like his favorite large sized combo meal from Hardee’s, also known as Carl’s Jr in these parts. “I know I fucked up, and I still think about her from time to time.”

“Well, if you think you fucked up there,” I state as my upper body hovers over the table to get into his business. “Wait until next year. A voluptuous blonde that catches your eye will give you experiences he over there can only dream of.” I point my index finger at 25 year old me, whose eyes widen in shock over this revelation.

“Stop fucking with me,” 30 year old me says as she shakes his head in disbelief. “That kind of woman doesn’t exist outside of a porn movie.”

“That’s what people tell me today whenever I bring her up,” I reply with a knowing smirk. 30 year old me is a stubborn lad, so I must be blunt with him or else I’m wasting my breath. “This woman has a voracious appetite and it’ll feel like you pressed her crazy button. You will struggle to resist her rather bold advances. You’ll think she and her family will give you what you’re looking for, but be careful. She will break both your heart and your wallet.” 

I can sense his sphincter tightening as his posture stiffens. This future relationship will wound him unlike any other, and it will hasten his eventual withdrawal from the dating scene. The woman in question has teenage children, and for a brief moment in time he’ll think he’ll complete her family as a possible husband and stepfather. He’ll even start looking at houses since it’s what an honorable man with a bright future is supposed to do in that situation. 

Then he’ll experience the heartache of breaking up with four people at once — that’s how it is when that kind of relationship ends — due to her cheating with him, not on him. He won’t learn about that last part until he stumbles upon her updated online profile about a month afterward.

I flop into my chair, and as I wearily look at the imperfect versions of myself I pray my words reached them. With a wry smile and a wink both of them dissipate into the darkness without saying goodbye. I leave a twenty on the table as a tip, and then reemerge in broad daylight with a new purpose: I have a new book to write, and I’m not alone in this endeavor.

***

Now it’s time to give y’all some deets about this book before I resume my normal posting. I have a working title and a non de plume for this project. In case the manuscript falls into the wrong hands, I won’t disclose either of them publicly.

Unlike last year, there’s no word count goal. This could be novella (under 50,000 words) or novel length. I hope it’s nowhere near 100,000 words. That’s a lot of… editing? Yeah, I’ll run with that.

There will be at least 20 chapters to write, but only one will be fiction. Some of the chapters will be good for a laugh, while a few will make me relive a couple of heartaches. 

There’s one chapter that will cover my worst ever online dating experience. Believe it or not, that happened when I responded to an Adult Friend Finder profile that requested men to meet a certain size requirement. The polite answer to your next question is the woman didn’t realize what she got herself into until I was the one who pumped the brakes.

Once I’m done editing the manuscript, I expect 25 year old me to give me a fist bump while 30 year old me suffers some form of PTSD. The former did a lot of damage with the ladies when they celebrated their freedom from a failed engagement, while the latter concealed their past dating history out of fear. I won’t disclose my body count, but there’s a chance I might make Mistress Maddie blush despite my long stretches of celibacy.

I look forward to starting the first draft sometime Friday afternoon, even though writing it while sipping a coffee at Starbucks is obviously out of the question!