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DEAR ABBY: I am in the middle of a high-stakes, long-term fantasy thread on a popular forum. My writing partner and I have been building up to this huge plot climax for months. Last night, around 8:00 PM, he left a brilliant post, and it was my turn to reply.
Then my oven erupted into a glorious inferno and swallowed my kitchen.
The fire brigade arrived with all their flashing lights, the house is currently a pile of charcoal, and my family and I are huddled in a La Quinta inn with whatever we managed to salvage. It has been roughly sixty minutes since the tragedy, and I am consumed with guilt. I know I should log on from my phone to deliver my turn so my partner isn't left in narrative limbo, but my hands are still covered in soot and my notebook of plot outlines was vaporized in the blaze.
I know the cardinal rule of our board is ONO, but I feel ghastly holding up the climax over a trifling setback. Should I attempt to peck out a reply right now between calls to the restoration crew, or is it permissible to request a brief reprieve to collect myself? — CINDER-ELLA IN A CRISIS
DEAR CINDER-ELLA: Oh, by all means, do not let a minor inconvenience like the total destruction of your earthly possessions interrupt the sacred duty of your digital pretend-time.
Far be it from me to stand between a dedicated author and her literary obligation. Please, drag your smoke-inhalation-suffering self over to the hotel lobby Wi-Fi, prop open your phone, and tap out three paragraphs about a magical elf while your insurance adjuster is on line two. Heaven forbid your writing partner has to wait a whole sixty minutes for a response while you deal with the utter trifle of being homeless.
I am well aware of the sacred "Owe No One" gospel that roleplayers love to preach as if it were carved into stone by divine hand. People chant "ONO" like a holy mantra the moment real life dares to intrude upon their hobby, throwing up boundaries and demanding total absolution for dropping out of sight for 24 hours without a word.
Writing is a privilege, my dear, not a court-ordered community service sentence. Nobody is holding a gun to your head forcing you to generate prose on an internet message board. But the fact that you are sitting in a smoldering crater, agonizing over whether you have violated some sacred etiquette rule by prioritizing your own basic survival over a fictional tavern brawl, tells me you have bought far too deeply into the melodrama.
Log off the forum. Put the phone down. Go buy a pair of pants that aren't covered in ash. Your writing partner will survive the brutal, agonizing torture of waiting until you have a roof over your head. And if they dare to throw a tantrum because your house burning down ruined their posting schedule, send them to me so I can personally tamper with their oven.
Then my oven erupted into a glorious inferno and swallowed my kitchen.
The fire brigade arrived with all their flashing lights, the house is currently a pile of charcoal, and my family and I are huddled in a La Quinta inn with whatever we managed to salvage. It has been roughly sixty minutes since the tragedy, and I am consumed with guilt. I know I should log on from my phone to deliver my turn so my partner isn't left in narrative limbo, but my hands are still covered in soot and my notebook of plot outlines was vaporized in the blaze.
I know the cardinal rule of our board is ONO, but I feel ghastly holding up the climax over a trifling setback. Should I attempt to peck out a reply right now between calls to the restoration crew, or is it permissible to request a brief reprieve to collect myself? — CINDER-ELLA IN A CRISIS
DEAR CINDER-ELLA: Oh, by all means, do not let a minor inconvenience like the total destruction of your earthly possessions interrupt the sacred duty of your digital pretend-time.
Far be it from me to stand between a dedicated author and her literary obligation. Please, drag your smoke-inhalation-suffering self over to the hotel lobby Wi-Fi, prop open your phone, and tap out three paragraphs about a magical elf while your insurance adjuster is on line two. Heaven forbid your writing partner has to wait a whole sixty minutes for a response while you deal with the utter trifle of being homeless.
I am well aware of the sacred "Owe No One" gospel that roleplayers love to preach as if it were carved into stone by divine hand. People chant "ONO" like a holy mantra the moment real life dares to intrude upon their hobby, throwing up boundaries and demanding total absolution for dropping out of sight for 24 hours without a word.
Writing is a privilege, my dear, not a court-ordered community service sentence. Nobody is holding a gun to your head forcing you to generate prose on an internet message board. But the fact that you are sitting in a smoldering crater, agonizing over whether you have violated some sacred etiquette rule by prioritizing your own basic survival over a fictional tavern brawl, tells me you have bought far too deeply into the melodrama.
Log off the forum. Put the phone down. Go buy a pair of pants that aren't covered in ash. Your writing partner will survive the brutal, agonizing torture of waiting until you have a roof over your head. And if they dare to throw a tantrum because your house burning down ruined their posting schedule, send them to me so I can personally tamper with their oven.