This is a contest entry for ChickLit 's weekly contest prompts: #ChickLitMuse -
• Winning entry! ❤️
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It was pouring outside, as people gathered on the busy city's streets.
Men, women, children, all huddled close together, crossing the same street but each walking an all different path to each of their individual lives. Ironic, isn't it?
Meanwhile, I was situated in my personal comfort zone, in the corner of my favourite makeshift bed, rocking equally thrifty clothes with a secondhand laptop resting on my lap. Along with a grimy pizza box and some donuts here and there. Ah! The sweet joys of womanhood. Just the way I'd expected it to be, absolutely brilliant. At least the food was.
And if you ask the reason as to how I ended up in this lavish state, let's just say it was an unkempt, aimless craze of something, neither I nor anybody else who knows me, would've expected.
This fervour came to me in the form of expression. Expression of thought; feeling; passion, all through my most appraised and approved methodology: writing.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that I'm one of those prodigies that were born singing stanzas versed by foreign artistes by the time they were potty-trained, oh no. In fact, it'd be a miracle if I ever got myself infested in literatures of any sort. Especially the good ones.
Therefore, being especially gifted at school, writing seemed to be the only valid commodity that I was capable of. Which brings me to my current rosy circumstances that come with being said gifted writer that I just had to get a taste of, except it had to be right at the start of my writing career.
That unnerving, fearsome nightmare that every writer either dreads with all their might or thrives in if they're into that sport; the spine-chilling, hair-raising, writer's block.
Back in the days when my ignorance was at its peak, I believed that the writer's block occurred to those who had psychological issues where you run out of socially and morally acceptable ideas to write a word about anything.
Either that, or the fact that your mind's creativity reserves are obstructed by gargantuan walls and multiple hurdles to make sure your nuttiness shines through beautifully.
The thought of thinking of that alone made me cringe. How can anyone think of something so serious in such a trivial manner?
Mum told me to stand optimistic at all costs. Even when you're the one criticising your miserable self ?
Thinking back on my words, I studied the blank, greasy screen of the laptop steadily fixated on my lap.
I wrote the words 'Chapter 1' for the fifth time on the porcelain sheet before me, awaiting my words to do their magic on the grease infested screen of my laptop.
The moment I started writing, I'd think up an excuse to replace each word with something more presumably 'fitting', only to be replaced again. And this was only the bloody title of the very first chapter of a new novel that I'd been working on for a while now, because of my dreaded case of writer's block. The prequel did better than I expected, for a shabbily written chick-lit short which proved to be relatable for worn out, single women with alcoholic tendencies living in their mum's rented basement, struggling to make a living by doing what they loved.
Problem is, these ladies liked the prequel a bit too much and since then have demanded a sequel. Which is what I've been trying to pen down but it seems as if I've been missing something. Something that was present when I wrote that disastrous prequel, which somehow won over the people.
It's a term I came across during one of my university professor, Mr. Addison's lecture about one's journey towards a well written novelette. Something about that particular burst of inspiration at the most appropriate moment, and capturing it right there and then - the exact feeling during that outburst of inspiration and the peculiar words used to engrave it in the form of a work of art. A masterful piece only you will know the true value of. Something that will be your pride and joy, written out of sheer effort and for the pleasure of anyone reading it.
All because of that one little spark that hits you at the most unwitting times, a muse.
That was it. A muse. That's what I'd been looking for all this time! Except... I have yet to find it. I still have no idea where to obtain that sudden burst of inspiration from that'll be the fuel to my sequel's entirety. I can't believe I'm only realising this now of all times...
Looks like I've got my evening well sorted out.
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The rain had died as the sunset broke over the horizon.
The streets weren't as crowded as they were at noon, meaning I had plenty of space for fresh ideas and hopefully find my muse while I'm at it.
I felt a crisp-cold gust of wind pommel me in the face as I strolled along the wet pavements of the sidewalk, as if brushing my hair wasn't enough.
I tamed down some of my partly faded, red locks to make them less conspicuous, to no avail, as I entered a little cafe nearby to catch a better view of the twilight approaching the skyline.
The sun's zenith could be seen in all its luminous lustre, glancing down from the sky's enswathe.
It's sheens could reach every single entity dwelling on this vast yet diminutive platform, but one thing that particularly caught my eye under these sheens was simply glistening.
It was as if it'd been illuminated by all the suns and the stars combined.
And the subject of all this candescence were a pair of lucid, golden irises with their gaze fixated upon a sturdy looking book held by a slender yet delicate hand. The owner of this hand didn't look much older than the book he held. Maybe a graduate student, judging by the fatigue portrayed by his lean frame.
While I took my time contemplating whether the owner of the book was that exciting element missing in my sequel, I had completely overlooked the fact that the same lanky hand was waving right in my face as if trying to revive me from a phantasm.
That successfully bought me back to the miserable reality which was currently my writer's block that I had yet to overcome.
"You alright there? I saw you glaring holes into this book I'd been reading. Honestly though if you ask me, it doesn't do a very good job explaining the major concept behind a particular subject matter. For instance, if you take the formation of a nuclear entity - "
"Is that book really entirely based on science?"
"The entirety of it. Why'd you ask?"
"Oh. Well, I noticed you were reading it with an expression that screamed excitement and thrill. I wondered what sort of book it'd be to have that effect on its readers. I bet it's the hand of a genius author." Unlike me.
"Oh no, I believe you're quite mistaken with that assumption. In my honest opinion, if you're infatuated with the subject, any book written in any way would automatically appeal to you. That's why I'm passionate about any book written on the subject of physics. It's only because of my infatuation with physics and the laws of the universe that I find books like these digestible."
I was a bit taken aback from that response. Maybe the only reason those women read my prequel really was because of how relatable it was. Maybe that's the kind of subject they'd love to read about because it calls out to them.
Does that mean I should just make out something straight from the prequel? Wouldn't that make for a blander sequel?
"What if the author writes a book on a subject you're not so indulged with, but in a way that makes you want to crave more of it? No matter how distasteful the subject?", I challenged. Surely there must be a way.
He took a sip of his coffee, all the while maintaining eye contact with those hazel irises that contrasted with his scruffy, unkempt hair, while I awaited his response. He was a character alright.
Finally, he spoke, with that same gleam in his eyes I encountered earlier,
"If that's the case, why don't we go find out?"
I almost rolled my eyes at the poor lad. It's not like I'd been on the lookout for this all day now, nope! I was totally busy texting my many girlfriends, doing the dishes and binge-watching Corrie, just like every other happily married young mum.
Except, I hadn't done any of that and I'm certainly not a happily married young mum, quite the contrary in fact.
But for the sake of decent socialisation and a chronic inability to find a muse on my own, I decided to take him up on his offer.
I answered in my usual beaming tone,
"Sure mate, why not? It's only been a month since I was on the lookout so why not do it together this time? I bet it'll work wonders for our careers."
I don't think he caught the apparent sarcasm dripping from my words judging by the cheeky, enthusiastic look on his face. I wondered if he ever got offended by anything.
"Great! Actually, I've been looking so forward to something like this for so long now, I forgot how exciting it'd be! Oh, I'm Brandon by the way, call me Brand if you like."
"Okay, Brand. I'm Amelia but my friends call me Amy." Of course, if I had any, that is.
I noticed that we were alone in the old cafe as everyone had left at sundown. The atmosphere was starting to get chilly but was kept warm from the prior presence of people here. Along with the added coziness of the books stacked on the various bookshelves lined along table booths.
This cafe was a library in disguise, maybe it was a library not too long ago...
"Well, Amy, I hope I'll see you tomorrow then? There's this place that you've got to see if you want me to answer your last question. I think it's got what you're looking for."
I wondered if I might know this place.
Brand told me to meet him right here in this cafe tomorrow, and with that, we both went our separate ways.
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The next day was neither too sunny nor too hazy. It was as if this vast firmament of ours was still trying to recover from yesterday's stormy weather, which was quite common in every city of England, really.
Everything was happening all at once as I made my way to the same tiny, bibliothecal cafe as yesterday to meet up with the same overexcited, lanky physics enthusiast - Brand.
Schoolgirls and boys sang jibing rhymes in the bold, but faded yellow buses as their fellow school-kids got onboard, all the while making sure their little hats don't topple over their wee heads. Mums stood outside their homes in dirtied aprons, and tired but heartening expressions, as they watched their little cherubs sing their way to school. Hardworking men, young and old, ran across streets to make it to their workplaces on time, in hopes of a decent income at the end of the week. Everyone had something to look forward to in their everyday life, it seems.
Just like I looked forward to his sunlit presence in that timeless cafe.
He stood next to one of the bookshelves, in an antique looking sweater, sipping his usual latte with a dainty donut in hand. Something told me he was an old soul, like the ones from the 1930s.
Just as I walked into the cafe, I felt a waft of cinnamon-infused, warmly scented air brush my nostrils and it instantly gave me a whole lot of hunger pangs.
Brand waved at me right after licking the donut glaze off the tips of his stringy fingers, and I waved back. After a bit of small talk and another round of glazed donuts, we set out on our little escapade.
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"Why are we walking again?", I enquired as I huffed and panted through the entire route which was completely isolated from the city, and that somehow scared me a bit, being with a complete stranger and all.
But you were the one who signed up for this, after all.
I guess that made sense.
Brand wiped his forehead with his wrist as he studied our current location to match it with the one he had been wanting me to see.
Finally, he responded between huffs and heaves,
"For the full experience, of course. Well, that, and the fact that public transport these days are a detriment to mankind and humanity."
Is he for real?
I shook my head as I processed the logic behind his words.
"Oh, look, we're almost there! See those boulders over there?", he pointed at a seemingly everlasting, lush-green walkway, amongst the heavy forestry.
I narrowed my eyes to get a better look of the scene he was pointing at. And it seemed like the entire walkway was blockaded by a boatload of boulders. Mountainous boulders made of pure, hard stone.
"Whoa... those are humongous, Brand! Where'd they come from? Did anyone just dump these in here?", I looked up at them in awe and frustration. I couldn't imagine what could be hidden behind these barriers...
"That's what I'd like to know too, Amy. But think about it like this, how 'bout we somehow manage to move one of the smaller ones down there at the bottom and make a little path to move through the boulders?"
I stared at him with my mouth wide open. Had he completely lost it?
I thought he'd lost it a long time ago but this was completely unexpected on my part!
But if I'm being honest, this does look like it could be a much-wanted little change in my daily, havoc of a routine.
And so I decided to suck it up,
"Where do we start...? Oh, and please tell me you've done this before! Where's the guarantee that this will work? You said you wanted me to see what's behind these right? Or was it the boulders themselves?"
He looked at me for a minute and replied with a cheeky grin,
"If I'm being honest with you, a little bit of both."
That somehow made me a bit more relieved, as I sighed and regarded the variably shaped boulders stood staunchly before me, blocking the way to who-knows what lies behind the bedazzling, lush greenery.
A corner of my mouth curved upward and I walked up to stand behind Brand as he thought up different ways of overcoming the boulders.
"Was this a plan of yours all along? To get me to help you move these and get what you want on the other side?"
He turned around to come face to face with me, and gently smiled as he said,
"If it was, I would've gotten anyone else to do it for me a long, long time ago. But it didn't seem like anyone had the same goals as you and I did.
We're both facing a boulder in each of our lives and are trying our best in everything we do to overcome it. It's not that other people aren't facing blockades in their lives, it's just that they don't make the time to overcome it. And that is something we both have to make this work. And that, with enough time and hard work, it will.
You'll overcome your boulders in writing, and I'll overcome mine in deriving the laws of the universe. It'll all work out in the end, Amy, as long as you're willing to try the impossible and give it your hardest. And I can surely guarantee you, the results are worth it."
His words left me speechless, once again. And there it was, that all-too-familiar gleam in his eyes under the direct influence of sunlight. It was mesmerising enough to make you believe you can do everything there is in the world.
That Sunday afternoon, I had worked the hardest that I ever had in my entire life, physically speaking.
We sweat buckets, drank multiple litres of water, and got back to lifting each of the smaller boulders at the end, little by little, with each passing minute, hour, second. We got a couple chaps to help us out since two overgrown adults were far too less energetic to be lifting boulders. They were good kids, the lot of them.
By the time the sun was starting to set, we had excavated a hollow opening to what seemed like a little piece of fantasy. Both Brand and I were covered in dirt and grime, from head to toe but the excitement was far too apparent to be ignored, just like that place was far too aberrant to be real.
I went ahead and proudly crossed the boulders.
And just a few steps later, you could view the entire countryside from up here. It was like a whole another world of its own. I was simply awestruck.
Little people could be seen, busy in their own little lives. It reminded me of the time I used to be a little lass, in the very same countryside. Life used to be so simple and perfect, looking at this scenery made me crave those moments once again.
I closed my eyes and took in the fresh air of the countryside, reviving my most fondest memories when I heard Brand barely whisper something in an exhausted voice,
"Found what you were looking for, Amy?"
I found myself smiling with satisfaction as I nodded,
"Yep, I think I did it, Brand." I really did it this time.
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[2998 words (LOL) ]