Her muse


The coffee cup, half finished sits beside the monitor as her fingers skittered over the keyboard, the words filling the screen, line after line, sentences structured, the story clear in her head as the voices of characters weaved a semi-magical ribbon of narrative fabric, almost autonomous, a natural rhythm to the cut and thrust of dialogue. Lost in reverie, in the swirling kaleidoscope of colours and sounds the story takes shape, moulded, sculpted, carved from the language of the everyday, the mundane but reformed into something more, something beautiful, something wonderful.

He watches her work, lost in admiration for the ease with which she conveys the deepest human longings, emotions and sensations etched across the mind of the reader, seared into the psyche creating new archetypes, hinting at hidden meanings, of deeper truth, of passions beyond the experience of most, but longed for at some primeval level. She pauses, looks up from the screen, a faint smile on her lips as she sees him watching, a smile he returns, and in his eyes she sees her muse….

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s