Beth texted me after work. Our text conversations, I like to think, are like those of any writer. We struggle with Twitter because we want to tell a story instead of just shouting something and running away.
We also both have unlimited texting. Wonder why?
Her: Bad day, you back with Dorian yet?
Me: Nope, he wanted me to be more bratty, so I’m giving him good cause to spank me later on.
Her: …
Me: I might need to stop there tonight. But not until late.
Her: Dinner. My place. Bring the tomatoes.
Me: You want my bean sprouts and parsnips too?
Her: Yes. Bring them.
When Beth has a bad day, she has a drink, watches some shows and gets over it. When someone points out an error that she made and does so in a rude or derogatory way it’s not a bad day. It’s a shit day. When these days happen, Beth struggles for control and she takes control in the kitchen.
As I said, she’s a good cook. Can’t make pancakes worth shit, though.
Having struggled all day to write the last of one chapter so I could move onto the smut that I wanted to do, I went to her place. When I get frustrated, I get stuck in place and can’t move. So getting out and moving is better than sitting there, stewing in my own frustration.
The same could be said of Beth. She vented her frustrations to me as I watched her march about her kitchen, throwing things into a pot and seemingly not caring what she was doing. As her frustration dissipated, the meal came together.
Instead of letting it eat her up inside, instead of shouting at the person who made her feel bad about herself, or even sinking into herself and hiding away from everyone she knows, Beth cooks a wonderful dinner.
Her concoctions get weirder, the more annoyed and frustrated she is. Tonight it’s a mishmash of … stuff. All vegetarian. The only processed item to go in was some broth stock mix. My gorgeous tomatoes are in a giant bowl with chopped bean sprouts, fried parsnip and onion, brown lentils, and bulgur. I have no idea what it is. I don’t think even Beth knows.
She learned how to do this from her mother, I know because I’ve watched her mother make “stuff” a time or two. Except her mother didn’t have access to fresh ingredients, let alone a plethora of fresh veggies.
The pair of them are so weird when it comes to food. Nearly every time they make “stuff” it tastes freaking fantastic.
Beth’s writing is like her “stuff.” Sometimes it doesn’t make any sense, people who look at it and turn of their noses, but those who try it, (mostly) like it. I hope my books will be like that.
Don’t get me wrong, I can cook great. But I have to follow a recipe, to do things that have been tried and tested in the past.
And when I get frustrated? I text Dorian and be a brat until he gets off work and demands my presence.
Perhaps I should do that…
Aya DeAniege 