- The Writers Voice -

[shadowlight]

Sorry it's been so long between prompts, but I couldn't figure out a new way to post prompts once my image hoster closed down. Thanks to my daughter, I think we're up and running again.

God bless,
Marlicia
with God all things are possible
_________________
Be patient with me. Like any good story, I'm a work in progress.

[shadowlight]

It feels good to be posting something new here again. Completely freewrite. I apologize in advance for the roughness. I'm a little rusty.

God bless and thanks for reading,
Marlicia
with God all things are possible



The Rivendell Room (WC 500)
©Marlicia Fernandez 5-18-14

“Your reservation was never received,” the clerk said, “but since you do have a confirmation number, we’ll do our best to find you a room.”

Angelica adjusted her pack. “I hope you can find something. I made my reservations months ago. I suppose I could find another inn, but this one came highly recommended.”

“You won’t find one,” the clerk said. “We’ve been unseasonably busy the last few weeks.”

An older, monocle man approached the desk from a room behind the desk. “Give her the Rivendell Room.”

The clerk gaped at him. “But…”

“Now,” the man snapped. “I’ll see the lady there myself. Give me the key.”

“Okay.” The clerk handed him the key and the older man turned to Angelica. “I apologize for the mix-up and hope you will enjoy the room. It’s our best…a favorite of the young and the creative. No extra cost.”

Angelica stared at him. “But how?”

He winked. “Don’t worry. I can do what I like. I’m the owner.”

“Then I thank you.” She smiled and followed him up a short flight of stairs.

He stopped at the door at the end of the hall and opened it. “Here we are. The writer’s room.” His eyes glinted. “Held especially for you.”

“What do you mean? I thought you said you lost my reservation.”

“That’s what the clerk believed.” The proprietor nudged her into the room. “You must finish what the others started.”

Angelica studied the man. “What are you talking about? Finish what who started?”

“You’re a writer, aren’t you?” he asked. “That’s why you reserved the room?”

She nodded. “I’m here for the retreat in town.”

“You must finish what the others began. You must write.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Angelica’s gaze swept over him. “Wait, what do you mean I have to finish what the others began?”

He slipped outside, slammed the door shut and bolted it on the outside. “Write the tale that brings them back, all of them.”

“Brings who back? What are you talking about?” She tried the door knob. The door didn’t budge. “Let me out.”

The proprietor laughed. “Soon, if you’re talented enough…and if you’re lucky. You have forty-eight hours. Food and drink will be provided. There’s a bathroom behind the column by the bed and plenty of reading and reference material. I suggest you make the best use of them and of your time.”

Angelica banged on the door. “You’re out of your mind. You can’t keep me here.”

“Ask the others, the ones who failed what you must do. It is in their best interest to help you avoid the pitfalls they experienced,” he continued. “They’re more talkative when you pull back the covers, slip between the sheets and dream. They love a good story, but if you fail in your task, you will join their ranks. Your tale will join theirs as another musty volume added to the unique décor of the Rivendell room until another more inventive writer comes along. Good luck.”
_________________
Be patient with me. Like any good story, I'm a work in progress.

[Harry]

My Bed

Harry Buschman


Oh, the places we’ve been, my bed and me, the adventures we’ve had. Back in the days of mumps and measles, I stayed with Jack Hawkins on Treasure Island as long as I could, even after the treasure was found and the pirates dispatched. Not until the doctor rousted me out of my bed and told my mother it was all right to send me back to school again.

My bed and me have sailed with Captain Bligh and with the whalers on the Pequod during seasons of step throat and flu. Long after the whale was flenced and the white whale with the crooked jaw was sighted, long after Bligh was cast adrift in an open boat I rose from my bed and went back to school.

I journeyed to the center of the earth, I went to the moon and Mars, to King Arthur’s court and I was a guest at the table of the mad hatter and Don Quixote… all hidden beneath the covers of my bed on snowy winter afternoons.

When I left my bed with reluctance and went outside, I looked at life in the cold light of a weekday morning, knowing I left the better life behind me in an upstairs room in the back of the house. Lord knows what adventures, perils and excitement my bed endured without me while I struggled through PS 42 and Samuel J. Tilden High School.

I didn’t take the bed with me when I left home. It would’t be proper in my daughter’s bedroom. The decals on the front and the Indian head dress on the pillow are all a part of a boy’s world. But it will be back there in an upstairs bedroom in the back of the old house waiting for a boy to come and claim it.

I hope he will be my son.
_________________
We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.
Ernest Hemingway

[Harry]

Surpriaingly enough whenever I sit down to write that’s exactly the feeling I get. Trapped! And I’m not getting free until I figure a way out. Good concept, Marlicia. The “retreat” business confused me a bit since that signified a cooperative effort of some kind. Maybe she’ll get the help she needs.
_________________
We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.
Ernest Hemingway

[shadowlight]

I love your story, Harry. It reminds me a bit of my childhood and young adulthood. There's something about reading in or on a bed. You took me back a bit and I really enjoyed it. I hope there is a boy, especially a son who will enjoy the bed.

Thank you for the kind words regarding my little snippet. Sometimes I feel trapped when I sit down to write as well. Or maybe it's the ideas that are trapped and I'm stuck until I can free them, somehow. I don't know. The retreat is basically just a reason for her to be there. It's one of those things where you can attend talks and classes and make contacts and obtain support and encouragement if necessary. Have you even been to one? I've always wanted to, but they are a bit pricey.

God bless and thanks again!

Marlicia
with God all things are possible
_________________
Be patient with me. Like any good story, I'm a work in progress.