All I Ever Wanted Was To Be A Writer!
Meanwhile my writing cohorts are faltering. The one with the garden gets bored and says she doesn’t like controlling what happens next. She likes surprises, even if they are unpleasant. She wants to drop out of the group. The night train rider moves from writing to creating a vision board. The other two continue to write and wait for it to happen. I, on the other hand, am on a roll. I write my next segment and read it aloud to them:
One red and orange October morning, as was her custom, Renee had seated herself on her sun porch to review her list of to-dos for the day. With its view of the garden, the sun porch was an idyllic place, but she hardly noticed because she was so infernally bored with her life. She felt like screaming, but instead she rose from her chair and said very, very loudly, “Something needs to happen NOW!”
That’s when she she heard the noise of a motor blasting up her steep and winding driveway. Rushing to the window, she arrived just in time to catch a glimpse of a gnomish man sliding off the seat of a ridiculously monstrous motorcycle, removing the helmet from his head, tucking it carefully under his arm, and then striding purposefully in the direction of her garden door. She made a mad dash for the key that hung on an old railroad lantern and flung the door open wide. Standing there on her step, he was indeed very short, no taller than five feet for sure. His hair was frizzy, resembling a pad of steel wool worn thin, his beard gray and crinkly, and he held his lower body slightly off to the left, giving an impression of deformity. A pair of intensely blue eyes pierced to Renee’s very soul.
She studied him for another very long moment and then blurted out, “How did you find me?”
“You do remember me, then.” He was matter-of-fact.
“Yes, Monty. Denver, 1971. May I come in?”
Renee wasn’t sure that was the best idea, but she stepped aside anyway and allowed him to enter.
“Ah! Yoga, the spiritual discipline of India.”
“India. Yes, India.” Her tone took on a sarcastic edge. “The land of lost opportunities! We made the decision together you know, Edward and I. He was worried about my safety.”
“So sad! The spiritual adventure of a lifetime, and he didn’t want you to go. Not everyone gets a second chance, you know. But I’m here today to offer you one. How soon can you be ready to leave?”
The group is quiet when I finish. And then someone says, “I like it when you read to us.” The one with the garden says maybe writing your future is not what she thought it was after all and requests reinstatement into the group. The one with the vision board says she’s going to be late to the next meeting, so will I please wait to read till she gets there cause she can’t wait to find out what happens next. Holy turds! I want to know what happens next, too. I will have to write it to find out.
(of course it will be continued, because like I said, I’m on a roll!)