You are reading excerpts from Moe D’Vation Meets the Girl. This is presented as part of the A to Z Blogging Challenge. If you would like to read more Moe, the first post is dated April 1, 2014. Moe will ‘muse’ you until April 30th.
“Don’t sit around whining about not having enough time to write. Sit your derriere in the chair every day and put the fingers to the keyboard. Except not on Sundays. Go to mass. It’s good for ya. But the rest of the week? Jackhammer the work! Life is too short. Right? Now write!” Moe D’Vation
My laptop sat on the kitchen table, fully charged. I poured coffee into my usual happy face mug and nibbled a jelly doughnut.
This was going to a great day. I could feel it in my bones.
I checked the clock on the microwave.
Eight o’clock? Hmm…where was Moe? He’s never late.
I drank another cup of java and, yes, ate another jelly doughnut.
Still no Moe.
I facebooked as I scarfed doughnuts. How many of the wheel-shaped artery cloggers did I eat? Half a dozen? How many cups of coffee? Four!
Arggh! Thank you, Moe!
My routine was out of whack! My heart raced!
I should go back to bed and sleep off this buzz.
The doorbell rang. I was jacked with sugar and ready to rumble. I stomped across the hardwood floor to the front door. I jerked it open, and my jaw dropped.
“Funiculi funicula, my little panettone!” Moe doffed his fedora which had a little feather stuck in the hatband. He wore strange leather shorts held up by suspenders, and his legs looked like angry hairy sausages. “Surprise, toots!” Moe exclaimed.
“Are those lederhosen?” I asked.
“Yep. I borrowed this outfit from a friend of mine. He likes to get kinky with his girlfriend. She’s a little German frau.” He waltzed through the door, tossed his cap on the table, and picked up my happy face coffee mug. He took a swig and made a sour face. “Coffee’s cold, toots.”
“Of course, it is, Moe! You’re two hours late.”
Moe extended his arms and smiled.
“It’s good to be missed. Will ya make a fresh pot of joe for the Italian stallion?”
“Arrgghhhh!” I stomped to the kitchen to brew the coffee. “And I don’t want to hear about the kinky frau.” Moe followed me trailing cigar smoke.
“Oh, the frau wasn’t kinky. My friend is. He’s an author with a penchant for…”
“Do not…” I shoved my measuring spoon into the coffee bag. “I repeat…do not ‘enlighten’ me about your friend. I am working my ass off here sticking to a schedule, and you were late.” I poured water into the coffee reservoir and punched the brew button.
“Settle down, sugar. Bring me a cuppa when the coffee is hot, and you are not.”
“Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t!” I yelled.
He did not say a word but sat in his usual kitchen chair, puffing on his cigar. I moped in the kitchen as the coffeemaker sputtered.
“I can’t believe you, Moe D’Vation! You waltz into my life with your Star-Trek-mind meld thingie. I lose sleep every night wondering if I will be able to produce copy, and for what?” I stuck my head around the corner and yelled, “So you, Mr. Moe D’Vation can waste my frigging time!”
Moe flicked cigar ashes into the saucer on the table.
“Hey, put some sugar and creamer in that joe, will ya?”
“You pompous bag of pasta, say please!” I yelled.
“Sure! Puh-leez put a little sugar and cream in my coffee. How’s that, panettone?”
“Fine! And quit calling me panettone!”
I swooped back to the coffee pot, pulled a mug from the cabinet, and dumped the whole sugar bowl into it. I pour coffee over it. I did not stir the caffeinated sugar bomb. I traipsed to the kitchen table and held the mug out at arm’s length. Moe took the coffee and sipped it. I waited for him to gag, but he didn’t.
“Ahh…now that is good java! Just like my Nonni used to make.” He licked his lips and dunked the butt of his cigar in his coffee. This sweetened the smoke. “So you missed me. Did you get any writing done?”
I plopped into a nearby chair and telepathically hammered him with death rays.
“No, I didn’t write a damn thing.”
“Why not? Still have fingers, don’t ya?”
“You weren’t here, Moe! I facebooked.”
“You facebooked instead of writing the book?”
“Moe, your lederhosen must too tight. You weren’t here. I couldn’t write!”
“Interesting…very interesting.” He blew a smoke ring. “You budgeted writing time in your schedule, but you didn’t write because something wasn’t right.”
I glared at him, and I crossed my arms. This was my ‘bad mama’ pose for word battle.
“Moe, as you well know with the Star-Trek-mind-meld-thingie, I can not produce a thing if my elements are not neatly in a row.” I listed my requirements for a productive writing session. “I need the right font on my laptop, and, of course, MY MUSE!”
“Sugar, you have a lot of wants when it comes to writing.”
“Moe, they are not wants. They are NEEDS!”
“Funiculi funicula!” he said
“What the heck does that mean, Moe?”
“In this situation it means you are FULL OF IT! Waiting for the perfect moment means you just wait. Period. If you want to make a living writing, you write. I wasn’t here this morning. You should have still done the work. Writing is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration.”
“I sweat therefore I am,” I snickered.
“No, panettone, you sweat and pray that whatever you crank out will be remarkable and true to you. Not me. You. Do you know why I was late?”
“Because I saw this coming. I knew I had to blow you out of the waters of your ODD rut. ODD means ‘Over Dependence on Details.’ Quit waiting for all your ducks to be in a row. Write like a rebel anytime, anyplace, anywhere, and with anything.”
“I’m not ODD, Moe!”
“Oh, really? Who has to slurp java from a Happy Face mug or she has a crappy day? Who has to have the right pen, the right paper, and the right moment before she can write?
“Yes, you, panettone!”
I lowered my hands to my lap in defeat. Moe had spoken the truth. All my life I waited for perfect even though I knew it didn’t really exist. I was ODD. Did I have the courage to bust loose and write whenever and wherever?
“You’ve got what it takes, sugar,” Moe said.
A tear trickled down my cheek.
“Yeah. Funiculi funicula!”
I wiped my eyes and laughed.
“What does that really mean?”
“I don’t know. Something about a cable car.” He squirmed in his chair. “Can I borrow some sweats? These lederhosen are really bunching the bocce.”
“Too much information, Moe. Too much.”
“Funiculi funiculi, baby.”
Moe’s Suggested Listening Music: Funiculi funnicula! By Sergio Bruni