|Image courtesy of Jeroen van Oostrom/FreeDigitalPhotos.net|
This started as a writing exercise as I sat at the coffee shop observing people for character development.
Reading over it one day I decided to write a short story based on the characters. I kept it in the form of a journal.
Ok something has to give sooner or later. Stories keep being rejected, but remember Stephen King’s spike holding all his rejection slips. Hold on and don’t give up, my time has not yet come. Maybe I need that partner who will find my breakthrough story I tossed in the trash and he tells me how it will be my story to lead me to success. Yeah sure, I should be so lucky. What do I want, luck in publishing or luck in love? Maybe both, is that too much to ask for?
Get that coffee. A good jolt to the system is always the cure to what ails you. Oh my, the coffee counter girl has green and white streaks in here hair, must be a real company girl. Don’t have to worry about here thinking I’m strange for the way I take my coffee or bagel.
Did I ever tell anyone that I feel energy from people? Well I do very strongly. That is why I have such a hard time going to conventions and seminars. Conventions especially where people are from all over the country or other parts of the world. People who are looking for a quick sexual encounter just because they are there and can get away with it. And after all what are conventions for, at least for some of the population. That activity emits a lot of energy, energy that I pick up very strongly and can be very difficult for me to handle. So I stay away from all the writers’ conventions, just to keep myself calm. Is that why I can’t get published?
Someone here has some strong energy I am detecting it right now. Don’t think they are here for a tryst, but they have something going on. Who is it? My, oh my, this man coming up to the counter for his coffee. Wow, tall, very broad shoulders tapering down to a pretty nifty butt I must say. Think some twenty something jocks could be jealous of that, or maybe give them hope they can look that way at this age. He must be around sixty, and well preserved, more hope for getting older. He does smell good, haven’t been close to a good scented man for a long, long time. Oh my God he has blue eyes. I feel faint like a teenager next to the football hero. I think I am getting a hot flash. No wait I took my hormones today, must be a flash of lust. Like he is going to even notice me, silver haired with my skin thinning and loosing its elasticity, but look he has graying hair and I must ad a little skin showing on the top of his head. I never would have thought bald would end up looking sexy and appealing. Getting older sure does change your view of things. Remember Grandpa, remember Chemistry book man, they were not looking at the ‘young chicks’. He drinks his coffee the same way I do dark roast with a shot of espresso, our first thing in common. How romantic! Oh, he is using his wife’s coffee club card; oh no he asked if he could change it to his she has passed. Poor man, I know how that feels, should I give him my condolences? Oh come on, snap out of it.
Get control of yourself silly old girl. Take your coffee not his. Oh how embarrassing. I hope he didn’t notice. Go to your table. Write. Drink coffee. Daydream about Football Hero...
© Copyright 2014 Eileen A Partak