One of the (very few) problems of the do-it-yourself solo writer's colony is that the other "worker bees" at the colony are often drunk retired folks on vacation.

And, they're not necessarily artists, they don't spend their lives wrapped up in le proces artistique (pardon my lousy faux-French), so there's a lot of explaining to do when they see me typing frantically on the veranda, over desayuno, and at dusk as I stroll past "margaritaville" to grab yet another glass of water with lime.

In the last two and a half weeks I've been frequently subjected to all of the following:

DRF (drunk retired folk): "You still working on that book?"
ME: "Yes, I am!"

DRF: "There she is typing again, that little writer. Go, go go!"
ME: "Hi!" (And aren't I glamorous with my sweatpants and cold sore on?)

DRF: "You getting a lot done today?"
ME: (Yes. Just say yes.) "Yes!"

DRF: "Jeez, I never met nobody famous before. I can barely read a book, and here you are writing one!"
ME: "Well, there's a big difference between being a writer and, like, being a famous writer... what? Uh, actually, no, I haven't read The Da Vinci Code."

DRF: "Making a lot of progress?"
ME: (Yes. Just say yes.) "Not bad!"

DRF: "You finishing your project?"
ME: (Uh...) "Not yet!"

DRF: "You don't want a glass of wine? You already been working all day."
ME: "Well, sounds great, but the evening hours are such a creative time for me, so, no, thank you."
DRF: "So, did you say you wanted some wine?"
Me: (YES!!!) "No."

DRF: "They say you're writing a novel. So is it fiction or nonfiction?"
ME: "......!"

And finally:

DRF: "Ya know, I always thought I should be a writer. I always figured I had a good book in me. I should write a novel about my life."
ME: "Oh you should. I'm sure it would be fascinating." (And while we're at it, I've always thought I should be a surgeon! I always figured I had at least one good triple-bypass surgery in me. Pass the scalpel, I'll start with you!)