Finally, the slothful ticking of the clock unlocks time and sends a reminder about the gathering. Collecting scraps of partly finished rhyme and narrative, the novelist escapes in relief from the characters of the current storyline who are screaming for liberation from their own turmoil. Dashing past piles of groaning laundry and other household chores, she rushes out.
The streets are crowded with stories that tug at the writer like a breeze on autumn leaves. On this day, though, the strategy calls for her to stealthily allow such intrigue to fall behind as she is drawn toward the heart of the gathering place. Others, also unrecognizable by the general public as people with clandestine lives ruled by the necessity to fill white space with black ink, meander into the room. Young moms, businessmen, teachers and construction workers leave behind their daily duties for a covert encounter with fellow writers in order to refocus on what they know to be their true mission.
Too quickly, the meeting ends. With stories to write, markets to send to, and contests to enter, the writers are sent away with their assignments. Renewed determination energizes them as they leave, still incognito and moving furtively back to their masquerade among the real world. They are excited to fulfill their calling.
This piece won my first year of membership with Inscribe Christian Writers Fellowship, appearing in FellowScript magazine.
photos CCO license courtesy of Pixabay.com