Chapter Two

(Chapter One)

So, that day started off just like any other day, with getting out of bed and turning off the dream feed and eating breakfast and brushing teeth and hair and picking an outfit and getting dressed and walking outside.

Which was where the "like any other day" part stopped. Because it had rained overnight and now the clouds were already gone, and the air felt sharp and electric. The city surrounded her, cool and huge and spacious under a sky that was that kind of blue you only get after a rain, sort of like a normal blue, only ten times brighter too, because everything around you glitters in that rained-on way that makes the light slow down and last and last.

It was one of those days Bitsy could have sworn she was alive.

Her train to work came right on time, which was normal. And the same crowds of androids swarmed into it, a couple of them even familiar, here and there, like the guy who always read the old-fashioned printed version of the news on that thick, folded-up paper. And the pretty Asian-model girl who had some kind of bug in her makeup app and never got her blush or eyeshadow on quite right. Bitsy always wondered whether those kinds of eccentricities had just crept into the population as codeglitches that weren't quite bad enough to trip an update threshold, or if they were holdovers from the days when there were still lots of reals walking around, and every android needed a quirk or two to make it less obvious they'd come out of the factory, since the more droidy you were, the less likely a real would want to hook up.

She'd watched plenty of history feeds about those days, but you could never know what to trust, because after all a big part of Professor Heisenborg's plan was to jumble up the data banks so no one could be sure who was real and who was android.

It fascinated her, though, and just thinking about it usually zipped her through her commute so she was at work before she knew it.

Except that that day, coming off the train, she turned the way she normally turned, and this guy turned the opposite way with a big cup of coffee, and he ran right into her and spilled it all down her front and half knocked her over in the process.

"Factory!" she cursed, trying to keep to her feet and also lean over to get the steaming-hot coffee-soaked front of her shirt away from her skin. "Ow! Aah!"

"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," the guy was saying, one hand reaching for her shoulder but not getting there, like he didn't know whether to touch her or not. "Are you all right?"

Bitsy looked up with her face in an angry squinch, ready to cuss him out.

And then his eyes met hers, and she looked into them, very brown, very earnest.

And she knew that he was Real.

(Chapter Three)

shift key, you are my nemesis!

ooh, this writing thing is going to kill me.

Chapter One

Bitsy B09 was one of those silly androids that believes the old assemblotronic's tale about humans still being mixed in with everybody else, walking around pretending they're androids too. Every morning, Bitsy got up and brushed her teeth and brushed her hair and cleaned the hairbrush and put the stray fibers down the recycling chute, the whole time thinking, Maybe today will be the day I meet my Mister Real.

Of course, lots of girl androids thought that, and not because they were silly or shallow or defective, but just because it was there in the base program, and no matter how many times the politicians had a big old debate in the legislature, nobody could ever quite get enough votes together to agree to alter the base program, since once you started changing it, who knew where you'd stop? What was different about Bitsy, though, was that when other girl androids thought about finding their Mister Real, they shook their heads and frowned and made an appointment to see their theraputer, maybe just to get some validation that it was okay to have the base program pop up once in a while, or maybe to get a prescription for a stronger set of subroutines that would let them go about their business without too many of the fantasies intruding.

Bitsy, though, she chose to believe.

(Chapter Two)

show off

okay, so there i was thinking about writing that romance novel. and i was like, hmm, what do i even do to get it started? and msg says he usually makes a bunch of notes and a simple outline, maybe some chapter titles, figures out who his characters are, what he wants them to be like and how they change in the book.

which sounded like way too much planning and overthinkery to me, because i am pretty happy being a spontaneous person. only nothing spontaneous was happening when i tried to get the thing going, so msg says, "here, why don't i start it for you and you can take it from there? give me the names of two characters, and tell me a place where they meet, and tell me something weird that's happening in the place when they meet there."

so i think i kinda just blinked for a minute all deer-in-the-headlights-like, and then just said the first things that came to my mind.

"great," he says, "i'll get it started, you watch over my shoulder, and when i get the first scene done, you can take it from there."

now, this was all exciting and tingle-ifiying, since we were going to be doing something together, and he'd be showing me how he does his writery thing, and i'd get the hang of it watching him and then it would be easy to jump in and take over.

yeah, right.

there we are, me hovering, him typing and pausing and telling me why he did this or why he didn't do that, and it sure sounded like he thought it was obvious and straightforward, only i kept thinking, "jeepers, this is complicated." and he kept asking, "what do you think? are you ready to take over?" and i kept saying, "no you keep going for a little more."

and he just wrote the whole damn thing.

seriously, msg wrote this 350-ish page book in between the last entry in this blog and this entry. (which you can probably imagine is why i haven't had a crack at the computer to do any blogging since then.)

obviously, i did not hang around watching over his shoulder the whole time, but i watched more than i usually do when he's writing, and it was way eye-opening. that stuff is a crazy amount of work!

when he was done, he apologized about being such a big computer hog and also about being overall kind of neglectful during the whole deal, and he asked if i thought i was ready to start my own book, and i said, "you're crazy. this is obviously something for people way more obsessive than me to do. mister crazyperson." and he laughed and he said it really wasn't any more obsessive than blogging about your feelings and life and shit, which i do all the time.

which gave me the idea that maybe instead of sitting down to write a novel, i should sit down to blog, and then just blog the novel. like, in between my normal posts just write a bitty bit of story as a post, and however long it takes me is however long it takes me, and maybe i'll finish it and maybe i wont.

but i definitely won't finish in 2 months!

crazyperson.

p.s., i think his book is pretty good, but it is not sexy enough. mine may not end up being as good, but it will be sexier by a lot. like, steamy hot without going over into being a naughty book instead of a romance book. well, that's my goal. it may end up being naughtier than i'm thinking, though ... you know me!

i am thinking

about writing a romance novel. this probably reflects a very unkind lack of respect for romance novelists, since i've only written a few things and they've all been short. probably there's a lot to writing a whole romance novel, and i'm fooling myself that i have the stick-to-itiveness. msg has written novels out the wazzoo, and he tells me all it takes is deciding to sit down and write at least a little every single day. but then he also says things like, of course, nobody's first novel is all that good, and i'm like, whoa, you want me to write a little every single day and then in the end it won't even be any good? and then he's like, no, you said you wanted to do it, and i'm just telling you what to expect. parts of it will be good, he says, and i'll love it because i love you, but you've got to be realistic.

and i'm like, dude, did you hear me when i said i was thinking about writing a romance novel? when did romance novels and "realistic" ever go together?

anyway, i'm thinking about doing it.

why romance? honestly, i don't read the stuff, on account of i have all the romance in my real life that i need.

but ... a whole lotta the things i write are romantic, right? and when i look at the stuff i'm really proud of, that i really think works, it's almost always the romantic bits. (okay, some of the sexy bits too, but i hear lots of these romance books have sexy bits, so that works out, i think.)

so i'm thinking about it. i may not even start it. i probably won't finish it. it will probably be a disaster if i do finish it.

but it will give me and msg another something to talk about (not that there's any problem around our house if you run out of conversation material ... alternative activities always await), and more importantly, it will let me get a better feeling for something he does that's really important to him.

we'll see ...

decisions

okay, so my ridiculous boyfriend was slouching around being all gloomy-like, and i had to figure out whether to give him a stern talking-to or go with mushy-gushy and supportive. Now, a lot of girls would probably be kinda aggravated if their smart, talented, super-sexy and fully employed boyfriend was moping and sighing like that, especially considering the fact that he has a smokin'-hot girlfriend besides. so they would probably go with option a and tell him how ridiculous he was being. but i am just not wired that way. if i see him hurting, i can't get mad about it, and the only reason i would be all "shape up, you," and "get over it" would be if i thought that would be more effective than making with the mushy-gushy. and even then i'd have a hard time doing it.

so i just went to him and settled in beside him and put one hand on his back and the other one on his shoulder and said quietly into his ear that i was there for him and that i'll always be there for him. and this kind of quiver ran through him and he closed his eyes and his body relaxed and he put his forehead against mine and he said how lucky he was to have such an awesome girlfriend. and i told him he just needed to remember it. he just needed to choose to think about me instead of thinking about the things that bother him.

we don't get to decide everything in our lives, but we get to decide how important love is to us, and how much of our time we're going to spend thinking about and doing for the people we love.

i have decided that the right answer for me is "a lot."

coauthors

My woman hangs locked in a box in my closet
but this is no prison - i'd pass on versailles
She waits there for just a few touches each week
i'm blessed, not deprived - that touch is my why

I worry, sometimes
because that's just you
How much more she deserves
okay ... that one is true!

When we are together
we are always together
When we are apart
no, two parts of one heart
She answers my want
wanton answers, i flaunt!

My woman hangs locked in a box in my closet
the key that is you is the key to me
She waits there for just a few touches each week
those few linger, linger, the finger of glee

And I wait to get back to her, hungry and pure,
I wait to entwine with her, certain and sure
and you, sir, have me and i have no need unmet
we are never a 'no,' only sometimes 'not yet.'