A little birthday something for Ken the writer
Well, it's Ken's birthday today, and I want to give him a little something. Real life has been WAAAYY too busy to throw another party (I still have to thank everyone for the last one - coming I promise), but then again, Ken doesn't really go for those silly parties much anyway. So here's a little something to say Happy Birthday, and thank you for sharing your wonderful work with us - it's been a joy to read your stuff - but also, thank you for your energy and support and commitment to WC. It really is great navigating this writing adventure with you.
A Visit From the Muse
Rhetoretician stepped through the door of the coffee shop to the familiar earthy scent of roasted Ethiopian Arabica. He took in a hearty breath of it, anticipating the cup he’d soon have before him. Ah, his favorite little table off in the secluded corner was open. He’d better claim his territory before someone else beat him to it.
He made his way across the room, holding his laptop under his arm, his eyes focused on his haven. There was a lightness to his step, though. Perhaps it was his darker shade of beard. That always seemed to cleave several years off his age. Perhaps it was the fact that his family had given him the entire day to relax and write. Those sorts of days didn’t come often. Between work and family obligations, he’d estimate they came only a few times a year. Certainly on Father’s Day and his birthday. And also that time he’d been overly stressed out at work, and Janice knew he needed a break.
He set his laptop down on the polished wood, and stared at it for a moment, fingering his dark beard. A particular plot point in his latest short story had been bothering him. But an idea had started to form in his mind during the drive over to the shop. Yes. That could almost work. If I can just figure out the motivation for…
Rhetoretician sat down and began typing, not even thinking to order his coffee. After a few minutes he stopped in mid-sentence. He lifted his head, still searching for the reason his character would choose that course. It danced just out of reach, though. He sighed.
And that’s when he saw her watching him from a table several feet away. Her fashionable reading glasses gave her a studious look. As did the yellow legal pad and pencil next to her open laptop. She picked up the pencil with a well-manicured hand and scribbled a few notes, then lifted her eyes from the page and back to him. Dark, wavy hair fell loosely past her shoulders, and a she revealed a subtle but charming overbite when she gave him a little smile and removed her glasses. She sat back and crossed her shapely legs, leading Rhetoretician’s gaze to her slender skirt that reached just to her knees. Perhaps she was in the legal profession. Add a smart little jacket, and that outfit would be fine in a courtroom. Then Rhetoretician felt his cheeks warm. He was thinking like Young(ish) Albus again. And anyway, it was Sunday. No courtroom would be open today. And this line of thought wouldn’t help him finish his story.
He pulled his eyes away and back to that sentence. He was stuck. After staring at the screen for a painful twenty more minutes, he decided to leave it. Perhaps polishing the opening would get things going. He scrolled back to the top and began reading, though his stomach tightened. He just couldn’t waste this gift of a day, with writer’s block. He cut an unnecessary word here, placed a comma there, until a slender hand set a steaming mug of black coffee onto the table in front of him. Rhetoretician watched as the same woman he’d noticed earlier then pulled a chair over and sat down next to him.
There it was again, that direct gaze, as if she had known him for years and felt completely at ease with him. She nodded towards his coffee. “It is just how you like it.”
Hmm, Rhetoretician thought. That accent. Subtle, but English is definitely not her first language. Perhaps Greek? That combination of dark eyes and hair certainly could be Greek. But then the actual words hit him, not simply her throaty voice and exotic intonation. How does she know how I like my coffee?
He cleared his throat. “Have we met before?”
She gave a soft laugh and tossed her hair. The subtle scent of her shampoo wafted over, floral with an underlying spice. “Yes. We’ve met before. Many times.” And then she leaned over and whispered something into his ear. Ken’s heart beat faster. That was it. The perfect solution to his plot dilemma. Not only would it solve the problem, but it would deepen the meaning of the story and layer the character.
She watched him as if waiting to see if he’d like it, a tiny furrow between her brow and the disappearance of her smile the only signs that she wasn’t sure if he would.
He glanced to the computer screen, then back to her and let his mouth relax into a smile. “Brilliant.”
Furrow now gone, she placed her hand over his and whispered two last words. “Now write.” And then she rose from the chair and walked out of the shop.
But Rhetorectician didn’t even notice her gently swaying hips, nor her lingering glance back at him from the doorway. He was too busy typing.
A Visit From the Muse
Rhetoretician stepped through the door of the coffee shop to the familiar earthy scent of roasted Ethiopian Arabica. He took in a hearty breath of it, anticipating the cup he’d soon have before him. Ah, his favorite little table off in the secluded corner was open. He’d better claim his territory before someone else beat him to it.
He made his way across the room, holding his laptop under his arm, his eyes focused on his haven. There was a lightness to his step, though. Perhaps it was his darker shade of beard. That always seemed to cleave several years off his age. Perhaps it was the fact that his family had given him the entire day to relax and write. Those sorts of days didn’t come often. Between work and family obligations, he’d estimate they came only a few times a year. Certainly on Father’s Day and his birthday. And also that time he’d been overly stressed out at work, and Janice knew he needed a break.
He set his laptop down on the polished wood, and stared at it for a moment, fingering his dark beard. A particular plot point in his latest short story had been bothering him. But an idea had started to form in his mind during the drive over to the shop. Yes. That could almost work. If I can just figure out the motivation for…
Rhetoretician sat down and began typing, not even thinking to order his coffee. After a few minutes he stopped in mid-sentence. He lifted his head, still searching for the reason his character would choose that course. It danced just out of reach, though. He sighed.
And that’s when he saw her watching him from a table several feet away. Her fashionable reading glasses gave her a studious look. As did the yellow legal pad and pencil next to her open laptop. She picked up the pencil with a well-manicured hand and scribbled a few notes, then lifted her eyes from the page and back to him. Dark, wavy hair fell loosely past her shoulders, and a she revealed a subtle but charming overbite when she gave him a little smile and removed her glasses. She sat back and crossed her shapely legs, leading Rhetoretician’s gaze to her slender skirt that reached just to her knees. Perhaps she was in the legal profession. Add a smart little jacket, and that outfit would be fine in a courtroom. Then Rhetoretician felt his cheeks warm. He was thinking like Young(ish) Albus again. And anyway, it was Sunday. No courtroom would be open today. And this line of thought wouldn’t help him finish his story.
He pulled his eyes away and back to that sentence. He was stuck. After staring at the screen for a painful twenty more minutes, he decided to leave it. Perhaps polishing the opening would get things going. He scrolled back to the top and began reading, though his stomach tightened. He just couldn’t waste this gift of a day, with writer’s block. He cut an unnecessary word here, placed a comma there, until a slender hand set a steaming mug of black coffee onto the table in front of him. Rhetoretician watched as the same woman he’d noticed earlier then pulled a chair over and sat down next to him.
There it was again, that direct gaze, as if she had known him for years and felt completely at ease with him. She nodded towards his coffee. “It is just how you like it.”
Hmm, Rhetoretician thought. That accent. Subtle, but English is definitely not her first language. Perhaps Greek? That combination of dark eyes and hair certainly could be Greek. But then the actual words hit him, not simply her throaty voice and exotic intonation. How does she know how I like my coffee?
He cleared his throat. “Have we met before?”
She gave a soft laugh and tossed her hair. The subtle scent of her shampoo wafted over, floral with an underlying spice. “Yes. We’ve met before. Many times.” And then she leaned over and whispered something into his ear. Ken’s heart beat faster. That was it. The perfect solution to his plot dilemma. Not only would it solve the problem, but it would deepen the meaning of the story and layer the character.
She watched him as if waiting to see if he’d like it, a tiny furrow between her brow and the disappearance of her smile the only signs that she wasn’t sure if he would.
He glanced to the computer screen, then back to her and let his mouth relax into a smile. “Brilliant.”
Furrow now gone, she placed her hand over his and whispered two last words. “Now write.” And then she rose from the chair and walked out of the shop.
But Rhetorectician didn’t even notice her gently swaying hips, nor her lingering glance back at him from the doorway. He was too busy typing.