The Bard

A writer begins to write a story. He pens it at night at his desk before sending it to the publisher in the morning. The draft is as follows and begins in plain verse.

“Joe Blow was a rather common man with a rather common job. As his daily work ended, as on any common night, he strolled into his local pub as usual for anything that he could drink.  

Joe, like many, was a fixture in this small town he inhabited. His daily fixtures were on something other than writing and his routine was of habit. To many, Joe had no erudition or any qualities of admiration. This man had never won anything in this life. The man was not misunderstood, he was just not worth consideration. Joe would have been the same man even if born in a different time. A man too common for even writers to try and develop a character. His physical appearance was just as common as the other descriptions of him. The room was colder just with his presence. 

After a modest amount of drinking at the pub he quietly went to bed. Joe was awakened late into the night with a thought or rather a push on his back. An apparition glowing from start to finish appeared in his room As its spirit radiated with prominence. The apparent figure was almost grey in its interior and something physical indicated that it was not imaginative in his room. Joe was too tired to really study the image and demeanor of the apparition. He remained stunned at what he was seeing. The ghost was not just going to let Joe return to his sleep.

The man had heard of apparitions haunting some. In these parts, there had been some ghosts sightings of note. However, the man did not care for such superstition. This apparition did not appear as the haunting type. Joe had done nothing significantly wrong in his lifetime. It did appear as if it was some beset evil here to teach and did seem willing to scare. It arose rather as something in existence. 

He lifted in his bed at an instance and knew to start a conversation. This normal scared man knew instantly what to do. The apparition did not need to name itself. He knew the figure, just not any of his works. The man was drunk with dreams and it appears he was now given the chance to interview with the Bard of Avon. He had always desired to meet such a man and was eager just at the experience.

Before the magnitude of the situation expired in him, he quickly inclined to participate. Even a common man would not pass up the chance. He had no convictions of the bard and would never dwell upon his words. However, he had heard of him from his school days and was willing to jump at the opportunity. He quickly collected his thoughts. 

“What about….” Joe said in a shaken voice while still in his bed.

“My writings are written in a normal room with normal….” as the apparition said in a calm voice and continued without hesitation. 

“Why do you write….” Joe offered softly. 

“As I offer my words only for the page. As I put pen to paper to my tune.” The bard whispered softly to the man. 

“Can you say more?” Joe said out loud and expected an answer. 

“Well, I am not sure if I should dignify such an inquiry. Key to advancing my legacy is the anonymity of my character and work. The less people know about me the better.” The apparition said rather quickly. 

Joe paused for a second. 

“Why me?” Joe said abruptly. That was something Joe had actually given thought to.

“Well, you know so little and I come for my audience.”

Comedy was not Joe's thing and he was not sure if he understood the bard’s humor. Some men were just more sophisticated than him. This was no time to trade insults with a bard and was not the direction he wanted. It was too late for him to think of any insults. 

“What do you bring to your work?” Joe said with some interest. 

“My specialty is the psychology of the character...they are in my head.”  

With bitterness, Joe thought to himself. Joe knew nothing of this man’s work and it never grabbed his attention. Thinking was not his trade, however, such an experience required thought. He had to continue the conversations to find out more about its place in the world. 

“What made you write all of those plays in your head?” Joe offered to the bard in an attempt to continue the conversation. 

“It is my skill. Same as yours….” the apparition offered. 

“Ok, so you just made money with your work... You speak with such a blunt tone.”Joe said quickly. Joe really understood this facet of the bard’s work well. This made much sense to him. 

“That’s my ghost. It gives me candor. It is just my momentary yearn. Your tone is rather straightforward than most. ” The bard offered as a quick reply to Joe’s comment. 

“Well, its kinda of late at night and I have to work tomorrow.” Joe said rather hastily. Joe was beginning to get drawn into the conversation with the bard. He quickly diverted his attention back to the bard’s writing.  

“Did you write your….” The man wanted an instant reply. This should have been his first question. The man dared to approach and ask him how his plays were prepared. This was all he could come up with.

“I penned most of my work. Some worked with others. However, I deserve little credit for its fame. The publishers insisted on making money as well….” The bard said in an explanation to Joe’s question. 

“Ah….Something is only good if it is read. Your stuff is read because….” Joe quickly offered before the bard could finish his thoughts. 

Instantly, the spirit departed. The man began to think and the plain man went back to sleep.”

The draft was accepted by every major publisher and was reviewed positively.