Notes #30 - Write a Better Story

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Notes From an Amateur Writer #30
WRITE A BETTER STORY

This Blog series is an exercise in creative writing. Sometimes expressed in short story forms, sometimes as a journal, or just my thoughts written down. This is my attempt to help coalesce my writing ideas and knowledge into usable form. It is a nursery of sorts for the stories that are on their way, or yet to be written.

My Coincidental Life

Coffee time again. Things can get repetitive. Highly repetitive. That's not always a problem. Routine is often very helpful for my thought processes. Even for my moods.

But I wonder sometimes what if things changed? What if the wonder of regularity was to be thrown to the wolves? If the clouds of change drifted down and settled in my space, even if just for a day? Inviting me into its world. A world of change, where things are different. Where one leaves routine at the door.

I take a sip of my coffee. I look back up from my thoughts, my notes, the Kindle resting on the table. There is a beautiful woman standing in front of my table. What's in the coffee? I should order another. She sits slowly and looks directly at me. Calmly, confidently, shattering me into a million pieces. I sweep up the mess and put myself back together again, but there is silence. I like silence, but there's a time and place for it. This isn't it. I smile awkwardly. Words fail me. Even in my dreams words fail me.

Leaning forward she asks me what it is I am reading. I tell her it is a book about a guy who meets a beautiful woman at a cafe. My Coincidental Life – that is what it is called. She wants to know what happens next. What a coincidence, so do I. I skim ahead in the book to learn this man's fate. My fate.

The man sits there believing that his sight betrays him. I tell him – the man in the book – to wake up. He doesn't, nor do I. More coincidences. She tells me it's a shame I didn't write the book. Perhaps I should have. She leans across the table, into me, into my space, kissing me on the cheek. Her cool lips electrifying the skin I use to hide behind. Blood rushes to my brain.

"Write a better story," she says. Yes fool, write a better story.

She vanishes. I let her go. It was my fault. I write some notes down. I ask her to return. I read back what I had written.

'Write a better story' – it was there in black and white. In my own handwriting. Next to it appeared the shape of her lips, red like my soul when it's on fire. Write a better story. Create a better life. Take it to the nth degree. You're in charge, you're the man. Don't stop now, do not fail. You're not a failure, are you? Are you? So why'd you let her go? Why did you sit there with your mouth wrapped up in layers of gaffer tape and your courage shrink wrapped in bags of ice? Write a better story.

There's a conflict in my head. The voices are at war. The battleground is a mess. And I can still picture her face. Those high cheek bones, sculpted by the gods themselves. That slender, petite nose, like a button. I just wanted to press it, watch her eyes light up. Watch the radiant glow of her halo blast out soft golden light in all directions. But I didn't do any of that. And now there is conflict in my head. I have to make it stop. I have to get her back.

Write a better story. Create a better life. That is what I'll do.

All images used with permission, and sourced from Unsplash.com.

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@naquoya

Short Fiction:

Bang Bang You're Dead
I Have No Name and I Must Scream
The Last Book Store
The Judge
The Man In The Mirror
The End of the World [Part 1] [Part 2]
The Locked Room
The Gods of Love and War [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Notes From an Amateur Writer blog series: