Everything is ready. The house is quiet. Her favorites on perpetual shuffle, turned down low. Coffee, just how she likes it. A taste and skill acquired over many months initially to be able to do something nice for her young adult daughter. The ever faithful and more importantly, silent supportive canine companion snoring in the pet bed.
Tools of her craft neatly set out. A notebook, nostalgically called “The Big Chief” laid open to scribbled notes only she or the FBI’s BAU can decipher. iPad with The Emotion Thesaurus at the touch of her finger. Brand new box of tissues, because…well emotions will be raging!
The next chapter fresh in her mind. Her players in costume, poised to give her the words, actions, feelings when she asks. It’s as clear in the morning light as it was in that semi-conscious creative pot-of-gold found at the end of the day in the spaces between being awake and sleep. Wait….pot-of-gold? Surely there is a better word for that. And she knows she saw the word for that time just before falling asleep on facebook a few days ago. It’s worth a google.
The cast in her mind freezes. They’ve been here before. A proverbial squirrel or two, have run across the stage and their director is chasing it through the interwebs. Our hero slowly folds down the the top of his paper. Watching his creator patiently as he sips from his cup. The heroine pauses less patiently, nudging him to “do something”. They have work to do. They can see the end. The final chapter. Subplots weaving in and out creating the next book and the next. The anxious anticipation of partners, family and friends gasoline on the creative fires.
“Oh fer-f***s-sake!” The heroine throws up her hands and huffs. “She sucked down a whole up of coffee writing a blog post. It’s been thirty thousand words. We were supposed to get to have sex today. And she’s going for a refill! She does know THIS doesn’t count as writing doesn’t she?”
The hero throws his head back and laughs at his ladies.
C C Cedras
K R Brorman
S A Young