Let It Be

26 Feb

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The other night,  Katie, Hilary and I allowed our considerable imaginations to run away from us and discussed our future as writers.

Taco Bell was involved, naturally.

Hilary started it off, “You know, Jill we were just talking about that, actually.  What a writing panel with the three of us would look like.”  She glanced over at Katie.  “Am I allowed to tell her?”

“Tellmetellmetellmetellmetellmetellme,” I said.  “Tell me or I won’t stop speaking like this. Tell meeeeeeeee.”

Hilary smiled, “Well Katie will show up with bright red hair and increasingly dark but moral stories.” I nodded.  Obviously.  This is Katie’s fate.

If only I all knew my own so well.

(PS KATIE GOT HERSELF A KICKASS LITERARY AGENT. I REPEAT Katie got herself a kickass literary agent. This is not a drill.)

Hilary continued, “And I’ll be there in overalls, straight from the farm,” she said.

Katie jumped in, “She’ll be covered in tattoos.  And her kids and husband will be on the front row, also in overalls.”

“Perfect.” I said.

Hilary continued, “And then you will show up, 15 minutes late wearing a crazy huge fur coat and big sunglasses and declare something tragical has happened to you on the way in and we’ll never believe it but it’s the worst thing ever.”

“YES!” I said. I punched the air.  “PERFECT.  Let it be. And please tell me my fashion is this side of crazy.”

“Of course” they chorused.

And then we laughed and ate extra Taco Bell and laughed some more and talked about all of our writing hopes and dreams and I thought about it again and again.

Perfect.

Let it be.

Let it beeeeeeeeee or I won’t stop talking like this.

Let it be.

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