You push open the swinging doors and walk into the Inky Tavern. Immediately you stop and raise an eyebrow at the scene.
The tavern is filled with a mixture of patrons from aliens to orcs to galactic mercenaries and wizards. Though everyone’s eyes are glossed over and droopy. In fact, you actually have to step over a frosty bearded time traveler laying incongruously on the floor. You notice that there’s a snot bubble peeking out of the time traveler’s nose each time he exhales.
The atmosphere is filled with music from an out of sync band on the stage. Their lead singer is a monkey dressed in a pink dress trimmed in tulle.
You start to walk out. But all of a sudden the monkey lets out an agitated screech that wakes up everyone. It picks up the microphone and starts to bang it onto the stage similar to the way toddlers shake a rattle. You stand still as you watch all hell break loose. A food fight happening to your right, poker chips being thrown to your left and the time traveler is running through tavern screaming: “The British are coming! The British are coming!”.
Hey, glad you can stop by. Why don’t you come take a seat?
You look all around you, and notice that your way out is blocked by a crowd of brawling dwarves. Much to your chagrin, you realize you have no other choice.
I glance around at the bar to find BoBo, my earth elemental bouncer, and gestures at the monkey. Bobo grumbles and wades his way through the crowd.
Yep, it’s definitely Monday. Always lethargic and slow.
You glance around at the rowdy tavern then back at me.
You know what I mean.
I snatch an odd green looking bottle of soda off the back shelf.
Pig breath? Sounds tasty.
Pours us both a glass.
I don’t know about you but Mondays are one of the hardest days to write. I mean… after trudging through [insert a responsible adult task here] only to have to redo it again—and write!? Bleh!
But then I remember something.
Writing is a place where I can be…well me. Which is why I’m here to tell you to fill your Monday with words (either by reading or writing). Do something different and let your imagination go crazy! Release the dogs! Fire the canons! Do this and your Monday will suddenly look like Saturday (that is…if you don’t [insert annoying adult task here] on Saturdays).
The rampaging monkey shrieks loudly as BoBo tackles it.
I raise my glass of pig breath into the air.
Drinks it, than spits it out.
Yuck! Who makes this stuff?
So, what do you like about writing? (post in comments or on your own personal space)