Notes from Mama Lobster: perhaps it's arrogant to say, but I'm really very proud of this chapter. I hope it's as enjoyable to read as it was to write.

Cat People

== Be Rose

The words are flowing quickly today, you are pleased to find, though you have not looked back to check them recently. You know better than to begin proofreading when your story is just beginning to move forwards. You write of wizards and magic and fantastic beasts as if it were merely a fantasy and not a life you had experienced and then left behind. A part of you wonders if this chapter is reading as smoothly as it is writing, or if you are perhaps blinded to its flaws by an intense need for a distraction.

Your wife's judgmental stare has not let up for a long time now, and you are not willing to play those games today.

She sits across the room, stone cold and silent. She never breaks her gaze, occasionally clicking her tongue in quiet disapproval. No, you will not deal with her criticism today, not unless she is willing to speak her mind.

She clears her throat quietly, covering her hand with her mouth. "You're ignoring me, Rose."

Your scribbling halts, unwarranted; your streak is broken, and it doesn't take long for you to recognize today's chapter as an incoherent failure.

"You haven't said anything. I don't know if I should be called the ignorer or the ignored."

"I asked a question, and you've made the decision not to answer. I don't believe I'm far off in calling that being ignored." Her words are sharp and her eyes sharper, and you silently curse yourself for thinking she would ever believe that you had not heard her. No, keeping your head down and pretending has never fooled her before. It certainly wouldn't start working today.

"Have you spoken to Casey lately?"

Of course the answer is no, and you don't feel like explaining yourself all over again. You have been busy. You are extraordinarily exhausted from work. You've already called her to apologize, and she seemed to forgive you, so there really is no dire need. When exactly did Kanaya become so much more clever at reading you than you are at reading her, anyway?

"I think you already know the answer to your question," Your words have more of a bite than you would have liked. "And I think you're trying to pull me into a discussion I don't want to have."

"Perhaps. And perhaps you not wanting to have it is more telling than anything else." Her stare never falters, even as she crosses the room. Her hand on yours is warm, and despite your growing discomfort her presence isn't entirely unwelcome.

"Rose." Your name is soft on her lips, and the judgment on her face is gone. "You have been hiding from her. You have been hiding from John, and frankly I believe you have been hiding from me as well. I'm not sure how thoughtless you think we are not to notice."

There is so little that is salvageable from this chapter that you nearly feel guilty about the paper it was written on. You need to keep your laptop with you more often, you think. At least then you won't be killing trees with this mindless drivel.

Your once sympathetic protagonist has turned to a machine, focused only on moving forward in his life at the expense of any shred of human empathy. It's a bland, straightforward read, with the only excitement stemming from the discovery of a new spell.

"I suppose this is the part where you will tell me to stay out of your personal affairs and scold me for being meddlesome once again, but it's difficult to resist when you insist on pushing me away."

You believe he needs some bonding time with his former loved ones, but you have no idea how to write something like that. It would absolutely kill the pacing of your novel to have several chapters dedicated to such interactions, especially when time is of the essence. The destruction of the universe is imminent, and your protagonist knows as much.

"I wish you would speak to me. I fear that this road we are on might be dangerous."

But what about afterwards? Your ending will surely feel hollow if your protagonist only grows more powerful and then succeeds. Sure there is cleverness and scheming and endless adventure, but once the universe is safe, what will he have left? Will he just continue to search for power and purpose forever? Will that really satisfy your readers?

"Rose?"

You clear your throat, dropping your notebook into your lap. "I have a very busy day tomorrow, and I apologize, but I really need to focus. I have a full day of appointments and will be meeting with a potential publisher on my lunch break."

"Well. I suppose it's good to know where your priorities are." Kanaya's brows knit in thinly veiled anger, and you don't suppose you can blame her. Research has long since taken a backseat in her life, and your nights together in the library have dwindled over the years. She has friends and social commitments that extend beyond mutual usefulness, and you… you have work.

"Once the holidays are passed and my book is finished, I will have plenty of time for both you and my daughter. I'm only asking that you cut me some slack until then."

She's skeptical, and bitterly so. You recognize her lipstick application as a tick, one meant to calm her nerves. It doesn't seem to be working.

"You know, Rose," She starts, checking her lips in the mirror. "The universe is safe now. You can stop any time you like."

Something in you tenses, holding your heart in a vice. It passes nearly as quickly as it came.

Maybe you can rewrite a few chapters back. Your protagonist once had a love interest, and was happy then. Perhaps if you built a little more on that subplot, before he gave up and his former lover moved onto a new partner, that is definitely an interesting—

Kanaya is gone, and part of you hates yourself for not following.

You return to your notebook in silence, but there is nothing left in you to write. Your novel, once so wonderful and fulfilling, feels empty and soulless as of late. Ever since your daughter stormed up those stairs and away from you, nothing you've written has been worth reading.