Writing and Publishing (week 7)

I'm finally here with another one. Except this one is more fail than the rest.
But none the less here it is in its original form. Enjoy slamming it!

Dragging my suitcse up the stairs proved to be more difficult to achieve than the rest of the bags. Probably because spouse wasn't there to help me. I could just tell my booty was positively sticking way up in the air too high to be appropriate or even sexy. Not that I cared. This suitcase was full of old editions, manuscripts and every other paperwork needed for my home office. I needed this stuff to be pulled safely upstairs to the new apartment picked ever so carefully by me, not spouse.
It was the purple walls that did it. So dark that if you switched the lights off they were black. I showed this to spouse numerous times, just to prove my point to him that this house is perfect just because of the purple walls. They released something wild in me. The cream walls in our last apartment weren't doing the job. So uninspiring when you stare at them. Especially when you're trying to think of what to write next for your novel. Halfway through the second one and I've started to stress whether the story is even going to work anymore. But no, the stress stopped when I saw the purple walls and suddenly I realised what I'd done...

Thinking I was alone I started to sing while setting up to the new office owned by me, not spouse. While sitting cross-legged on the floor categorising pages and humming spouses tune I heard a snigger come from outside
"Man you sure can sing!" the voice sounded behind me. Embarrassed I turned to point out I was humming not singing to find spouse with his suitcase in his hands "maybe you should be the lead singer in my band and not Ross" I bowled him over with my pouncing hug and snogged him all over the face until I was satisfied he was red all over with my lipstick.
"You're home early! I thought Hong Kong was a week tour not a...they kicked you out didn't they?" spouses band liked making scenes at their concerts. Trying to make money yet losing more as the crowds were more pleased. How that makes sense I shall never know. I'm not into music, that's spouse's job.
"Well...there was a motobike in the changing room" he went crimson when I had my hands on my hips
"And you rode it on the stage!?"
"An then off the stage" he squeaked back
"MICHAEL!--
Well what did you expect? They loved it!"
"Except for the people who were meant to be giving you money, right?"
"Well yeah but...they're gay babe" he dumped his bag on the couch and picked up one of my old manuscripts from my first novel
"This your book?"
"Are you ever going to read it Michael?"
"Probably not. Are you ever going to attend my concerts?"
"If you stop riding motocycles off stages I might. I'm too young to die being run over by you"
"You know I wouldn't kill you that way babe. I'd do it another way!" he joked kicking back and flicking through the pages. He'll never read my book because I'll never go to one of his shows, he'll always just stare at the words pretending to be interested, just like me humming his tunes pretending I just can't be bothered singing the lyrics, and not because I actually don't know them. I sat next to him and stared at his bandaged leg
Not if I get to you first I thought...only this time, I wasn't joking...

Sorry Michael. I don't actually want to kill you. In fact, the name is chosen strictly because you're in a band!
And of course because...PURPLE WALLS!

Jinx xx