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Poetic License
by afrai

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"What's that?"

"I'm writing about you. -- Give me back my pen! Oof."

"What'd our mum say? What've you written?"

"'Our mother' has been dead these twenty-five years, and you're holding it upside down. No, don't, don't -- oh, my giddy aunt. Do you know what parchment costs these days?"

"I'm not havin' you writin' lies about me!"

"Those weren't lies! All right, maybe they weren't quite the complete truth, but--"

"What'd you say?"

"I . . . might have cast you as a girl."

"What?"

"You must understand the public, Wat; the public doesn't care about an unworldly peasant lad and the sophisticated writer who is smitten with his dubious charms, it has to be a lass--"

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"He'll never understand literature."

"I don't think he wants to. Hold still!"

"That bloody hurt!"

"Well, you know what they say. You only hurt the ones you--"

"Shut up."

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