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| 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.
June 12th…
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
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