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Commissions are OPEN!
Here's a sample of an original work of fiction. 1216 words. Safe for work. (^_^)
The sound of typing echoed along the library stacks. Near the source of the sound, a voice murmured, “It was a dark and stormy night--”
“Stop it.”
“What?”
“Stop reading over my shoulder.” The shoulder in question hunched and the typist rubbed an ear against the knit weave of a stretch-out sweater. “Tickles.”
“Want me to--”
“Shh.”
“But I have a question.”
The typist sighed. “What.”
“Gotta be a dark and stormy night?”
There was a contemplative pause. “I guess not. Clear and moonlit?”
“No. Actually, I meant, does it gotta be dark?”
“...a not-dark night.”
“...yeah.”
“That’ll mean changing the setting. Arctic or antarctic and, no, before you ask I am NOT writing a Christmas thing.”
“But I like Christmas. It’s cheerful.”
“It induces an allergic reaction.”
“What -- like hives?”
“And retching. I will puke all over you if you ask me to write some drivel about Santa Claus sunbathing under the winter sun at the North Pole.”
The over-the-shoulder critic grumbled, “Way to ruin it for me.”
“I told you before we got started: no Christmas.”
“What do you have against Christmas?”
“Everything forever,” the typist nonsensically elaborated and then, with the clearing of a throat, returned to the task at hand: “It was a stormy night in the glow of a nearby chemical factory…”
“Ugh.”
The typist paused. “Ugh??”
“Well, it’s just, can’t we make this environmentally friendly?”
“...in the glow of a field of wind turbines?”
There was a snort. “Even you don’t like that one.”
“Not an easy visual to sell.”
“Oh-ho. And here I thought you were up for a challenge. Isn’t that what you were bragging about just the other--”
“Grrr. Fine. An environmentally friendly teddy bear factory.”
“Can we change the word ‘factory’?”
A smack resounded as a palm made contact with a forehead. A torso heaved with a silent sigh. “That would be the only part you object to.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound very cuddly, does it? And teddy bears are made for cuddling, so--”
“No, no, I get it. Just--cease and desist.”
The typing resumed.
As did the over-the-shoulder reading. One minute ticked into two. “What does ‘litigious’ mean?”
“We’re in a library. Look it up.”
“But I’m reading this.” Slumping against the desk with head-propped-in-hand, the in-house critic cheerfully queried, “Would I like it?”
“Like what?”
“Litigious.”
“How am I supposed to know what adjectives you like?”
“Oh, I dunno. We’ve only known each other our whole lives.” With a huff, the backseat-writer sat up and then slouched deep into the provided seat of the library chair. “If you can’t even guess what kinds of adjectives--”
“Don’t. Sneer.”
“Do as I say, not as I do, hmm? Ahem. As I was saying, if you can’t figure out what kind of words I like, then your powers of imagination--”
“Not one word about my amazingly vivid imaginative powers--!”
“Ooh, a threatening pointer finger! I’ve got one of those. Know how to use it, too.”
“As do I. Hah-hah!”
“Hey hey hey! Undo that!” A moment later, a long-held breath was released in a blustery exhale. “Geez. What’d you have to hit the delete key for?” A sidelong glare and suppressed smile accompanied a casual reprimand, “Don’t be smug.”
“I’ll be as smug as I want for putting up with you and your midnight-sun teddy-bear workshop--oh no.”
“What?”
“I cannot believe you.”
“What now?”
“This has ‘toy workshop’ written all over it. HOW DID YOU GET ME TO WRITE ABOUT CHRISTMAS WHEN I SPECIFICALLY SAID--”
“Shh!!! We’re in a library!”
The forehead that had been smacked with a palm earlier was now cradled in both hands, braced over the keys. A murmur, muffled, was aimed downward. “I knew you chose this place for a reason.”
“There is method to my madness.”
“Now who’s being smug.”
“Share and share alike. Just like mom taught us.”
“Ignoring that.” The typing resumed.
Footsteps squeaked on the old floorboards as the occasional passerby followed a scribble on a scrap of paper to a promising tome. Stacks and shelves away, a door opened and closed with a thump-and-click, audible during lulls in the typing.
“I appreciate this.”
Uninterrupted typing and a soft smile: “I know. Tell me how it goes over?”
“Don’t I always? Oh, hey. Back up. Can you reword--”
A forefinger stabbed repeatedly at the delete key by way of answer.
“Thanks.”
This time, the only reply was a grunt of absentminded acknowledgement.
The library closed at seven.
The hospital visiting hours started at nine.
A bright smile and a knock on an open door.
“Good morning!” the elderly patient called from the bed, tongue clucking at the way the visitor strutted over and procured a seat with a flourish. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you today. Oh!” With a wild glance about the room to locate a calendar, the protestation not only continued but turned pointed: “Today’s a Tuesday! You’re supposed to be at work!”
“Not on your birthday. Actually, I think the city’s taken the day off.”
“Listen to you!”
“You know, you should. You might like it.” Reaching into a pocket, a folded sheet of paper saw the light of day.
An indulgent grin bounced off of that paper. “What have you got there?”
“Well, it’s a story. Just for you.”
“For me?”
“Yup. To go with your painting.”
“The one you did for me?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You wrote your old spouse--”
“My better half,” came the quick correction.
“--a story? You?”
“Maybe I had help.”
“You supervised.”
“You know me so well.”
“Well? What are you waiting for? Read it to me.”
“Bossy! But all right.” The paper unfolded with a crinkle. A throat cleared.
A hand reached out and touched a shirtsleeve. “Wait. This story -- does it have a happy ending?”
A smile-shaped kiss was pressed to a wrinkled brow. “Always.”
The End
Notes from the author... assuming you're interested in my creative process:
When I started writing this, I had a vague idea of two siblings sitting down to collaborate on a gift together.
I used past tense out of habit (although I also enjoy writing in present tense). Also, third person POV was a habitual choice (first person would have been my second choice but only if I'm able to get inside the head of the narrator).
As I wrote, I eventually realized I didn't want to use any names or genders (and a story with non-gendered characters is something I've never written before, so that was a fun challenge).
I had no idea how old the siblings were and it wasn't until I was writing the latter, hospital scene that I realized they were in their 60s or older. (That was a fun surprise for me and I really liked it.) Most of the character description is left for the reader to infer (which is my favorite way to express characters -- I simply let them express themselves and, in the process, show the reader who they are.)
After having had a day to reflect, I think I would have liked to mention Christmas music playing in the background at the hospital or something in order to give the Christmas elements in the story more obvious relevance. This is why I should always always always wait to post new work; I inevitably think of something to improve!
