There’s a story in the outskirts of my mind. You know, the kind of shady neighborhood you never consciously visit. The place where vague fears hang out, and dreams that are not taken seriously, but are too strong to disappear. The story might be trying to build street cred or something, I don’t know. I just know it’s there. I catch a glimpse of it sometimes. Silhouettes in shadows. Watching. Waiting. Plotting.
I thought it might come out over the weekend, so I could attempt to capture it and lock it up in a page. Nope. I stayed where it was. Not quite taunting me. More like staring me down.
So I’m just going on with my day, pretending it’s not there. But keeping an eye on it anyway. I am hoping the story will come out tomorrow evening or Wednesday morning. Wednesday is a national holiday. It would be an ideal day for writing.
But, of course it won’t — when has a story ever concerned itself with you having the time to write it down? It will come when it’s good and ready, expecting you to make the time to write it. And you will. Sleep? Sleep is for the weak.
I have a secret weapon this time. I found a new blend from my favorite coffee brand; Mocha Aroma. It’s not chocolate flavored. It’s just a roast dark enough to leave a hint of chocolate in the aftertaste. It’s a cup of coffee that doesn’t mess around. And if for some reason it would fail me, I can always pull out the big guns. Douwe Egberts Black. I haven’t dared to open that one yet.
Bring it, story. I’m ready.