[Writers Muses] Response
You find yourself receiving a letter that had been misdirected or lost in the mail for several years. Who is it from and what does it say? Show us the affect it has on your muse.
My dearest Sarah Jane, the birthday card read in a script so mused and crabby that it nearly required K-9’s help in translation. It had been an unexpected arrival and however the postal office had tracked her down to her small flat in South Croydon was beyond her. For all intents and purposes, this ought to have been sent to her aunt’s home in Ealing. It was, if Sarah recalled correctly, where she and her mum had spent her third birthday, her father being overseas for work that year.
She shook her head as she walked past the kitchen and into her bedroom. However it got here, she decided she was best not knowing, what given the note had arrived twenty-five years too late. Sarah sat on the bed as she continued to read, pulling off her shoes one at a time as she did.
Happy birthday, muffin. All of three years old today, aren’t you? My, your grandmum was right when she warned me they grow up fast. I turn my head for one second and you’re no longer that baby I held in my arms, kicking and screaming and eager to see the world. That part hasn’t changed (you better not be paying your mummy or aunt any trouble) and I hope it never will. Instead, you’ve grown taller, far more headstrong, but most of all: absolutely gorgeous.
I wish I could be there today. I heard from your Aunt Lavinia that a surprise had been planned. Your very first trip to London, was it? To the zoo to see the lions and elephants and owls? I told your mummy to buy a stuffed owl on my behalf and name it Nigel. Creativity, you know, runs in your family.
I hope your day was terrific. I am so sorry that I could not make it, muffin, my Sarah Jane. Next year, I promise, I’ll make sure that I have no sale pitch to make. And if I do? I’ll quit.
You mean the world to me, you and your mum. Have the happiest birthday you could imagine, Sarah.
Love, Daddy.
She turned the card over to look at the front of it again. The googly eyed owl with the funny smile stared back at her until it became blurry with tears. Did he know that he’d only have two more birthdays left to spend with her when he wrote this? Oh, of course not. Automobile accidents were never planned, after all.
With a sigh, Sarah collapsed on her bed and clutched the card close to her heart.
My dearest Sarah Jane, the birthday card read in a script so mused and crabby that it nearly required K-9’s help in translation. It had been an unexpected arrival and however the postal office had tracked her down to her small flat in South Croydon was beyond her. For all intents and purposes, this ought to have been sent to her aunt’s home in Ealing. It was, if Sarah recalled correctly, where she and her mum had spent her third birthday, her father being overseas for work that year.
She shook her head as she walked past the kitchen and into her bedroom. However it got here, she decided she was best not knowing, what given the note had arrived twenty-five years too late. Sarah sat on the bed as she continued to read, pulling off her shoes one at a time as she did.
Happy birthday, muffin. All of three years old today, aren’t you? My, your grandmum was right when she warned me they grow up fast. I turn my head for one second and you’re no longer that baby I held in my arms, kicking and screaming and eager to see the world. That part hasn’t changed (you better not be paying your mummy or aunt any trouble) and I hope it never will. Instead, you’ve grown taller, far more headstrong, but most of all: absolutely gorgeous.
I wish I could be there today. I heard from your Aunt Lavinia that a surprise had been planned. Your very first trip to London, was it? To the zoo to see the lions and elephants and owls? I told your mummy to buy a stuffed owl on my behalf and name it Nigel. Creativity, you know, runs in your family.
I hope your day was terrific. I am so sorry that I could not make it, muffin, my Sarah Jane. Next year, I promise, I’ll make sure that I have no sale pitch to make. And if I do? I’ll quit.
You mean the world to me, you and your mum. Have the happiest birthday you could imagine, Sarah.
Love, Daddy.
She turned the card over to look at the front of it again. The googly eyed owl with the funny smile stared back at her until it became blurry with tears. Did he know that he’d only have two more birthdays left to spend with her when he wrote this? Oh, of course not. Automobile accidents were never planned, after all.
With a sigh, Sarah collapsed on her bed and clutched the card close to her heart.