After much deliberation I have decided to share the story that I spoke of in last Friday's post. Although I am feeling pretty vulnerable putting my work out there into the universe, I also feel excited that I am at the stage where I am brave enough to do so. Although I share my photos and artwork with confidence now, I am pretty shy about my fiction writing. Interestingly enough I don't seem to count blog posts or poetry as 'serious writing' - what is that all about?! It may not be a prize winning piece but I do believe it is the beginning of something huge for me.
The beginning of her story.
In her sacred place, by the raindrop splattered,slightly ajar patio door, she peered out over the early hours. She sniffed deeply, conscious of how you could taste the juiciness of grass in the air after rain. Everything was still. Each plant and creature taking deserved respite after the adventures of the storm. She knew that this was where the words would come, if they chose to come today.
Nestling herself into rose apple cushions, she shuffled the chair back from the dining room table, clutching a precious cup of steaming coffee. She closed her eyes fiercely at first, until the many dancing rainbow circles appeared in the back of her eyelids. Let go of the expectations. Write like you used to do as a child, with immense imagination and without adhering to the adult rules. She had written this in her diary days ago, as she examined why the stories in her heart were abandoned there. Those words would not leave her alone now. She had tried.
She felt the warm roast of the coffee trickle through her veins, teasing her tired limbs back to life with its curling fingers,infusing her with a deliberate warmth. Daring to open her eyes, she traced the delicate tree outline on her mug, like a labyrinth, like the answer would come to her as she ran her finger a long the last spirals of the twisted roots. The tree’s contours looked so fragile, as if just by rubbing them they would disappear. Yet as her fingers came into contact with the fired glaze the solidity of the textures comforted her.
Never quite out of vision, the crisp symmetry of her laptop came into sharper focus. She got up hesitantly and then thought better of it, sighing with a heavy stone like heart as she slumped back down. But it was there. Waiting for her words. And so she wrapped herself tightly in her unthreading cardigan and shyly tiptoed over to her once best friend and now nemesis.
With every approved word she deleted three more; critical creatures swooping infront of her eyes and into her ears, suffocating any word they deemed not substantial enough. She opened and closed the lid several times with purpose and surrender. The right ear of her feline familiar twitched at every snap, the reopening followed by a yawned stretch, with gentle purring in time with the humming screen.
There were words which needed to be told, which whispered with so much faith until they too were contenders for attention. They began to tell a story. One of her stories.