My Little Guy

I don't know why, but I'm sure he's male.  And he must be little, because he fits in my head.  Other than that, I have no idea what he looks like, or what he does when he's not working.  But I don't think he ever has a day off.  Poor little guy.

He's very busy, even when I'm asleep.  Especially when I'm asleep.  Tireless little guy.

He has lots of jobs.  He gives me ideas for stories.  He comes up with lines of dialogue I'd never have thought of all by myself, and says them better than I ever could.  Witty little guy,

He's great at figuring out what happens next, and at filling in those nasty little holes in plots.  Clever little guy.

He knows everyone.  He knows where they live and what they like for breakfast and what their favourite colour is, and what they did last night.  And why they did it.  Nosy little guy.

And the best thing he does; the cleverest, most amazing and unbelievable thing he does, is that he dredges up long forgotten memories, and pieces of trivial and not-so-trivial knowledge I heard years and years ago, and fires it into the front of my head just when I'm about to give up trying to remember it.  I don't even try to remember it anymore.  I've learned to trust the little guy to look in his filing cabinets (because that's where he keeps it all, you see) and produce it with a flourish, eventually.  OK, sometimes it's when I'm about to drop off to sleep, so his timing could be better, but I can't complain about that, can I? 

My little guy.  My invaluable little guy.

 

The End

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