The Author’s Love

Since 9:30, I had been staring at the page hoping for some kind of story to spill from my pen and onto the paper. I tapped the page loudly. I tapped in softly. Scanning random objects I was yet uninspired. Snowflakes whirled about and gently clung to the windows in front of me. As the hands on the clock slowly crept past midnight, it struck me; Inspiration -my old friend - came knocking. I let her in and we danced to the sound of my pen scraping away at my journal. At first she was timid, but then she was bold. Twirling and twisting in a waltz of creativity, we held each other’s hand hoping one would not let the other go. The tempo changed and we drew ever closer. We were more than friends now; and I felt she’d never let go. The fickle relationship of an author and his inspiration... she began to spin toward the door, but I pulled her back in to my loving grasp and she stayed. My thoughts were coming faster than I could write them. Ah, to win her I must tell her all of my mind. But alas, she said the words I dreaded most, “I must go, for it is late and the sun will rise soon. You must rest and be ready for the morning.”

“No. Not without you. Please stay with me,” I pleaded. With a look of compassion she replied “That is not how this works, my love. And I must go.” The very words broke my heart. Again, she leaves me! At the sound of the closing door I thought to never pick up the pen again. My writing would be done for I cannot keep her- inspiration was not meant for me... and it hurt to think of giving up on my dreams. I had to keep writing. I had to! .... But instead I would rest. In defeat, I closed my eyes and slept. 

And suddenly, morning had come around. Light was not welcome in my dark corner. But I arose. I began my day and fought the urge to return to my desk... my journal. Ah, but it called to me. My very heart was written on its pages. By supper time, I had to return! As sure as my ink would flow from the pen, a gentle rap at the door arrived. My heart leapt to the call of her soft fingers tapping and in moments she was in my arms again. I held her closely. I didn’t know she would ever return. My very soul felt mended again as her embrace held me together. And then she let go. ... “Write some more for me. I will dance alone a while.” I was tempted to disagree, but feared she may conclude her visit. So I wrote. Today she seemed so much more beautiful than before. Distant, yet so very present with me. Every detail of her drew me closer until I could no longer stay in my seat. I stood and took her hand, pulling her to me, but she was startled by my forwardness. For a moment she was reluctant to dance. “Please stay close to me,” I told inspiration. “A dancer needs a partner like a story needs an author.” With grace, she came closer and we resumed our waltz. Her beauty was a tale untold and I was bound to tell it. A gift the world needed to know of. An hour went by. Then two. Then three. My story was almost completed but I could feel my time drawing to a close. 

Struggling to keep her while I wrote, she’d dance away, and I’d pull her in again. But as the hours went by, I began to grow tired. It was three in the morning now. My rest called for me. I fought it but it called for me ever louder. At four in the morning I turned to my friend, my love, and she looked at me tenderly, saying, “It is alright. I will return in the morning. Dream of me till then.” Weary, yet longing to write all my thoughts, I looked back with no words to say. Inspiration lay one hand upon my jaw and tenderly smiled. “I will return in the morning.” With that she slipped through the door once again, leaving an air of beauty and splendor. And I closed my tired eyes. 

The night passed quickly with her memory in my mind all night.  I worried she would not return, for I hadn’t told her of my thoughts. My dreams were still inside my heart and she may never know them. Would inspiration leave me by morning? It was hard to sleep. But in the morning I was woke by a gentle tap again. Inspiration had returned! “You’re here so soon!” I exclaimed. “I needed to see you again. I do apologize for going too hastily. I hope I am not too early.” Her arms embraced me again and we spent the early morning together. I was determined to tell her all I knew. My writing came much more easily now with her sitting calmly at my side. She whispered and I would scrawl my notes onto the pages before me. Page after page, she sat there patiently until I had finished all I needed to say. She had laid her head upon my desk And was resting her eyes when I closed the journal. And with that she opened her eyes again. She sat up with an expectant smile. “Well,” I said, “I’ve finished.” A light in her eyes appeared that I had never seen before as she eagerly reached for my journal. “May I read it?” I nodded and smiled as she held the pages so delicately. For hours, she read over my most precious work. At times her eyes glistened with tears, and at others they flashed with pure delight. When she was finished, she lay the book on her knees and gazed speechless at me knelt down on one of mine. Without another word, I put forth a ring and asked, “Would you publish this story with me?”