Progression of a writer; Day 20

For those interested, the following is a description of the morning of a young author…

The author wakes a little before dawn. Not out of practice or discipline but out of necessity from a stomach ache that could no longer be ignored or treated by rolling over in bed. So the author finally rises, first clearing his legs free of the twisted sheets that restrict him, and walks with incredible confidence around the tossed clothes and shoes that lay chaotically on the floor. In the bathroom, the light is left off, yet the author decides to still inspect in reflection found within the mirror. Satisfied that nothing is overtly wrong, and having medicated himself with a sip of water from beneath the faucet the author is set to the following decision; should he begin the day earlier than expected or try to make up for lost sleep. The first is decided upon, though the logic came out of the satisfying thought of a cooked breakfast more than anything else.

So the author enters the heart of his home, and in turning on the faint yellow light above the stove, finds comfort and ease. The kitchen stirs in noise as the author reaches effortlessly for ingredients high in cabinets and refrigerator doors and ignores the aches of selecting cooking ware tucked away low. Sizzles and bubbles and aromas fill the air, and the author sifts through the sands of unorganized thoughts, some spurred by forgotten dreams while others fall away ignored until a satisfying amount of coffee has been drunk.

Strange thoughts become persistent. Like the personification of a skillet, unhappy that the author was careless in cooking tomatoes and now their skin stuck to its face. So the author apologizes wanting nothing more than to prove to the skillet that he does indeed care for its feeling. The kettle hisses in response, and the author ponders if it is a mocking laugh or jealous cry for attention. Eggshells are thankful to be rinsed before discarded, happy to know they will not smell or rot, and the Tupperware of lunch pleads to not be forgotten.

Other thoughts are questions that seek no true answer, but the author enjoys the exploration none the less, having completed his cooking and not wanting to disturb the quiet that now resided in his home.

So he ponders on such things like where is the line drawn between the author and the lyricist? He has been humming a tune since scrapping the burnt tomatoes out of his unhappy skillet and wondered what difference there was between himself, and the imaginary person who fashioned words alongside music instead. How different were their studies, their practice of their art? Or maybe there was very little to distinguish the two. Maybe the only difference was that he songwriter took better care of their bedroom, and cared little for the kitchen, choosing to eat out instead. Maybe they pondered on matters of greater significance and talked with their guitars instead of their frying pan.

By this point, the author has lost track of time, and in preparation for this exact habitual problem, follows a strict pattern. The water of the shower is turned, let running just enough to heat up and place a drop of tooth paste on the brush. The brush and author bathe together, the author always enjoying the ingenuity of completing two tasks at once. He dries off, gets dressed, and makes the bed in an almost violent manner as if great strength will help keep the sheets from coming undone in the night.

night06rdc_by_pascalcampion-db32fwj

Shoes tied evenly, his carriers bag slightly heavier than it ever needs to be, and hands full with keys and a disposable cup of coffee, he shuts the door, telling his house to be good, and that he will be back soon.

And after a moment the author returns in a rush, having forgotten the brown paper bag lunch in the fridge once again.

And so another morning passes, the author now settled in front of a blank page, ever surrounded by life brought forth in the inscription of his words, reaching out to share the oddities that seem clear enough to write down.

 

 

 

The artwork for this piece is by PascalCampion, titled “Sleepless Nights”. Please visit his web page to follow and support his work; https://www.deviantart.com/art/Sleepless-Nights-pascalcampion-670280707

2 thoughts on “Progression of a writer; Day 20

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