WIPs and Cthulhu Pudding by Willa Okati

So, last time I posted, I yakked on and on about indecision and came to the conclusion that it was damn well time to get busy writing again.

…I’ve almost started.

Which isn’t quite the truth. I’ve started two WIPs, one which twisted and turned and just about corkscrewed around on itself. I think I finally understand the characters and the story they want to tell — it just happens to be absolutely nothing like the story I set out to write.

No big deal, though. I like this new story much better. Though I will be charging my muse for the bottle of whiskey I bought to sob into when I thought it had deserted me.

But! I did say WIPs, plural. Because while I was poking away at the one, this scene unfolded in my mind. And my brain really really wants me to get busy with it. We shall see. And in the meantime, I’m sharing with you.

*****

TJ found Mr. Jontan with flour on his face. “What…” He almost didn’t ask. His mouth finished the rest without his permission. “…the hell are you doing?”

“Baking.”

“Yes. I can see… huh.” He jiggled his keys. How exactly did one ask a senior wizard not to blow up your kitchen, please and thank you?

Probably, you didn’t. You practiced stop, drop and roll instead.

“I’m afraid I’m not yet certain what it’ll be yet. Pudding is the destination. The journey is a bit arduous and afflicted with occasional walnuts.” Mr. Jontan poked at the bowl.

Whatever he’d mixed up in there poked back.

TJ took a step away. Explosion might not be the biggest of his worries. Cthulhu in a mixer took priority on the “oh shit” scale of concerns.

“There’s no need for alarm, you know,” Mr. Jontan said in mild rebuke. “I’m using neither magic nor chicanery. Not even a recipe book. It’s all quite harmless.”

“No kidding?” The glop in the bowl formed a smiley face in the middle. Sort of. This smiley face appeared to be possessed and had way more cinnamon teeth than your basic mammal would be comfortable confronting. TJ retreated. Faster. “Good luck with that.”

Mr. Jontan frowned at his bowl. “Drat.” He poked Cthulhu in the nose.

TJ watched the ensuing shower of batter and made a note to himself: buy paper towels. And Clorox wipes. And possibly a cement chiseler. And never, ever speak of this again.

Written by Willa Okati

Possesses an abundance of crazy ideas, writes constantly, and drinks an insane amount of coffee. Grooves to the beat of a different marching band and loves coming up with fun, quirky heroes and tales with unusual twists. You can find Willa at http://www.willaokati.com or on twitter as "willaokati". She'd love to see you there!
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