Pen Thief

I liked to think other people viewed the six of us as Knights at the Round Table—if knights wielded keyboards, notebooks, and expansive imaginations in favor of swords and metal armor. 

My armor couldn't be seen by the naked eye. It lived, breathed, and pulsed beneath my skin, a sparkling amalgamation of cosmic horror, fantasy, romance, and science fiction, unable to take any one single form, instead a constantly shifting, living thing I fed upon with each written word.

I glance at the others, my five knights, as they laugh and bicker. Candy wrappers litter the giant wooden table, pens and notebooks strewn about. Though I hate to miss even a single moment of debate, the stale coffee by the computer stations has been calling to me. 

A caffeine fix to sate my inner insomniac fiend, I use the coffee to make the waking hours more interesting or maybe just to keep me aware enough to witness them all. When the sun goes down, those who walk beneath the stars, who only come out at night, feather the lines between chaos and control, and though I don't prescribe to the anarchy, it's a beautiful thing to watch.

I'm not supposed to have a favorite, but I do, and it's Prudent. She's funny but doesn't mean to be. Her tone is acerbic, manner of speech abrasive, and her strange obsession with police procedurals is both perplexing and apropos of her general personality. During our monthly hangout, where we discussed our writing projects, she once told us that she gets her stories' ideas from obnoxious bumper stickers.

Today's inspiration came from a silver Toyota Tacoma with a rear cab sticker that read, "Think Twice, 'Cause I Won't," alongside an image of a shotgun. The group spent the next twenty minutes debating everything from the legality of the sticker's claim to Prudent's literary intentions with the phrase.

This led Enthusiast down a rabbit hole toward medieval weaponry and its merits in modern times, which then led to her next Based On A True Story idea about some obscure siege in 16th century Munster Germany. Enthusiast, aptly nicknamed, tends to get overzealous in her story ideas.

"It's not that I disagree, I just think you're aiming a little high," Logic gently argued. "400,000 words is never going to get published as a debut." Oddly enough, Logic leans toward Sci-fi, though her tendency to obsess over plausibility and plot holes despite the material covering everything from both time and intergalactic space travel to speculative fiction mind control gets slightly confusing as it’s all theoretical anyway.

"What's this pitch again?" Capricious asks like she's only just now tuning in. Usually, she's stoned, and most of her pieces are unfinished streams of consciousness. But she brings levity to the group, and I like her poetry. It reads well when I can't sleep or think with any real coherence.

Enthusiast, the one with lofty, unattainable dreams, resumes her point. "Okay, let me try this again. It's the 16th century. Anabaptists have taken control of Munster. We've got sex, we've got scandal, we've got religious zealots, we've got death and violence and intrigue," her eyes and smile grow wider, snapping her fingers with every hot point she makes. "It's based on a true story. It's brilliant."

We knights stare, first at her, then at each other. The brilliant idea fades like a dimming light behind her eyes the quieter the table gets. It would take too long to write, we all plead silently. It's too big. There aren't enough resources in English. It would never get published. So many reasons to let it go.

"You guys, a group of religious zealots took control of the city, and they barricaded themselves in, claimed polygamy was God's will, rounded up all the—"

Romantic clears her throat, "I dunno. The world is already such a bummer. Maybe you should consider something lighter. You know, a romance really only needs to be 50, maybe 60,000 words? You'd have already written, like, five books!" She smiles brightly, but it's a deception. Don’t think for one moment that she writes sweet love stories and not hard-core alien erotica. 

Someone from one of the computer stations along the wall of the library pushes out of their chair, the metal feet scraping against the ancient wooden floor. I forgot for a moment that we weren't alone. Open 24 hours a day during the school year, the library is typically quiet and empty and my favorite place to spend the long, lonely waking hours of my nights when I can't sleep. 

The six of us lucked out, finding each other. Strolling in one night, drawn in by the sign hanging outside the building claiming free book rentals with each library membership—the librarian thought she was clever, but it made me laugh—it was raining, and though I’d loved to read it’d been years since I’d stepped foot inside an actual library.

Marveling at the card catalog near the back of the building, a real one with cards and stamps and long narrow drawers, I met Logic, and we daydreamed together about a world in which analog remained predominant in our daily lives. We got to talking, one thing led to another, and we found ourselves returning each week, same time, same place, chatting into the early morning hours, debating everything from philosophy to politics. 

Slowly, one by one, our four other knights found us, and we established our monthly meet-up, discussing our personal writing projects and, sometimes, life's adventures and how they inspire us.

Torn from the reverie, my bladder forces my attention toward the bathrooms. Plus, I want coffee, regardless of how bad it might taste. 

I don’t bother asking if anyone else will want some, so I push out of my chair and tread tiredly to the bathroom, then find myself at the neglected coffee table. The orange-tipped carafe sits atop a hot plate, the stench of stale coffee beans blending with the rich, musty amber aroma of old books warming my belly. 

When I return to the table, I pause. 

No candy wrappers, scattered pens, or notebooks.

No knights.

I stare at the cold, empty seats for a moment, glancing between each chair tucked neatly into place under the round table and at my laptop, the screensaver bouncing around soundlessly. 

I pull out my chair, grip the mouse, and shake my computer to life. Sounds of laughter and bickering resume, a grin tugging my cheek to the right. Prudent, Logic, Enthusiast, Romantic and Capricious all fill the seats around me.

"Alright, where were we?" Prudent asks studiously, spine straight, hands clasped on the tabletop.

I stretch my fingers out, wiggling them before spreading them out on the keys, open my computer drive, and try to decide which of the eighty Chapter 1's I want to work on. 

I'm the Pen Thief, and I always have trouble deciding, but I’ve got five other knights to inspire me.