“I say we have writing retreats. Conferences, maybe. How does every week sound to you?” Buffy buffed her nails to a shine and contemplated leaving early so she could spend another few hours in her limo.
Robin raised her hand. “I’d come.”
“The unfortunate withering of the economy puts British, West Coast, and other faraway minions at a disadvantage,” Dave pointed out.
“Exactly,” Steve said.”
As Paca worked up some phlegm to forcefully agree, EE stepped in. “Let’s get some more ideas, please.”
Xiexie fiddled with some papers. “There’s always the NaNoWriMo dares forum for writing prompts.”
“The person with the most points would have a pretty bad piece, but it’d be funny,” Rachel said. “Funny is key.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. What about something quality, like Moby Dick fanfiction?”
Rachel perked up. “I had a teacher once who—”
“You’ve mentioned it before,” Dave said. “At least once. Mad scientists?”
“They do say to write what you know, Dave.”
Buffy yawned and scampered away to her limo and acorn cocktail. Steve pulled out his laptop and boosted his wordcount by another couple thousand, while Paca started dreaming about grass and Robin wiggled her eyebrows at EE, who was glaring at the ceiling and muttering about bureaucracy.
“Hey,” said 150.
“We could ask the lurkers.”
EE looked around. “What lurkers?”
150 pointed out the window, where rows upon rows of eyes peered in.
“What do you think, lurkers?” EE called, and a golden-haired face rose above the windowsill. “Weredingo fiction,” it barked.
Another face, paler and bloodied, with brains seeping out, rose up beside it. “Mooooo.”