Buttercup Was Raised On A Small Farm in the Country of Florin

What do people think about when they are forced to do nothing but think for long, extended periods of time? Waits in line when you don’t have a book in your purse or the hands needed to take out said book (um, is this the right time to break the news to you that I still have a stupid phone?), lying there in the chair at the dentist’s office, etc.

I had a “nuclear medicine” test at the hospital today, which sounds a lot cooler than it was, believe me. It basically meant eating a bowl of radioactive maple & brown sugar oatmeal (three cheers for me not having to eat scrambled eggs!) and then lying immobile in a giant machine for an hour and a half. Stupid girl that I am, I didn’t ask how long I was going to be in there… so I kept thinking to myself “it’ll probably only be another minute. This was plenty of time for it to work through me” and then nothing would come of such thoughts. After an impossibly long time, the technician came in and told me it would only be another 25 minutes. But, by then, I was already busy.

What did I think about while lying on my back, 5 feet off the ground, inside a giant machine as it tracked radioactive particles in my body? Well… I went over the beginnings of some stories I am planning to start tonight after midnight when it officially becomes National Novel Writing Month. I’ve got an original YA paranormal novel, a contemporary LGBTQ short story, and three fanfiction projects I’ll be working on– BBC Sherlock, Supernatural, and Marvel/Avengers. But writing those in my head proved more difficult than usual, as my focus just wan’t up for it (it had better be, come midnight tonight! LOL).

Buttercup was raised on a small farm in the country of Florin. Her favorite pastimes were riding her horse and tormenting the farm boy that worked there. His name was Westley, but she never called him that…

So I used my fallback: The Princess Bride. Now, I know hundreds of people across the country can recite this movie by heart–I’ve personally met dozens over the years. But I learned the movie off the VHS taped-from-TV version at my disposal. Which meant that when I finally saw the version that had not been edited for television to fit the time allotted, there were a few scenes I didn’t know. Every time I get to one of those scenes, I trip up a little and have to muddle my way through mentally until I can get back on track.

Fezzik: You never said anything about killing anyone.
Vizzini: I’ve hired you to help me start a war. It’s an prestigious line of work, with a long and glorious tradition.

I’ve got to say how convenient it is to have one’s favorite movie completely in one’s head, queued up and ready to go at a moment’s notice.  I found myself chuckling a little at some of my favorite lines and favorite parts.  It was as if the giant machine I was in came with a built-in DVD player… that occasionally missed a word or two and then berated itself for doing so.

And when I was a-strong enough, I dedicated my life to the study of fencing. So the next time we meet, I will not fail. I will go up to the six-fingered man and say, “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

So, this time around, I only made it as far as Westley and Buttercup entering the Fire Swamp when the test was over. I was lowered back to the ground and shown the way out through the labyrinth of hospital hallways. As I walked back to the parking garage, I went through the fire swamp scene and realized, with complete horror, that I’d skipped the whole section where Buttercup accuses the Dread Pirate Roberts of killing her love. I was devastated. So what’s a girl to do? I rewound to the proper spot and started over from that scene. This time, I made it all the way through the Fire Swamp before I reached home and dealt with my splitting headache.

Westley: We are men of action. Lies do not become us.
Count Rugen: Well spoken, Sir. What is it?
Westley: You have six fingers on your right hand. Someone was looking for you.

It’s times like this that make me curious, though. What do people do with their silences if they don’t have the benefit of  The Princess Bride running through their heads? As Sherlock would say, “What is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring.”