(no subject)

[elinorwise]

“Why is writing a novel so important to you? Is it the money? Because we’re doing all right with your salary and the accounting work I’m picking up. Or is it the cachet?”
“Neither of those things, since there’s no guarantee it would be published at all. And if it ended up in a desk drawer, like bad novels all over this round world of ours, I’d be okay with that.” As these words came out of his mouth, he realized they were actually true.
“Then what?”
“It’s something different. Something almost physical. Do you remember when Brandon got that cherry tomato stuck in his throat?”
“I’ll never forget it.”
Bran had been four. They were having a meal out at Country Kitchen in Gates Falls. Brandon began making a strangled gagging sound and clutching at his throat. Drew grabbed him, turned him around, and gave him the Heimlich. The tomato had popped out whole, and with an audible thorp sound, like a cork from a bottle. No damage done, but Drew would never forget their son’s supplicatory eyes when he realized he couldn’t breathe, and guessed Lucy never would, either.
“This is like that,” he said. “Only stuck in my brain instead of my throat. I’m not choking, exactly, but I’m not getting enough air, either. I need to finish.”

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