Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Snap Shot Theater: Authorial Intent

"Passing time, eh Mr. Evans?"

Todd looked over his type writer, and saw his assistant Greg, a tiny man, peaking his head through the door jam. Todd folded his papers discretely and placed them neatly onto his desk and leaned back in his chair, bobbing side to side against the ribbed spring built into the lumbar support.

"Killing it, more like it," Todd replied distantly. "I've been at it for nearly two months at this, bloody thing. You think after writing books for 10 years it would've gotten easier."

"That's the game sir," Greg said politely stepping inside. He held in his hand a small manila folder and approached Todd routinely.

"Those are your tickets for tonight," he said formally. "They will give you access to the suite as well. The concierge advised strongly not to misplace them."

Todd nodded, distracted. He watched Greg place the folder across his other papers.

He stood up and approached the window of his flat looking out over the bustling streets below him. Cabs whirred by along ancient cobbled roads, splashing up oiled water and tar.

"How do they do it," he mumbled aloud.

"Sir?" he heard Greg from behind.

Todd looked back at the petite, confused man and directed his attention to the window.

"Those," he said vaguely, "The blokes out there. They go to and from their posts every day without a care in the world. Here I am stuck in here, trifling over commas and semicolons. Had I taken my mother's advice I would have worked my entire like in the mines and thought nothing of it."

"And, you would have died of miner's lung long ago, absolute waste that would have been." Greg in a reassuring voice. Do you want me to call ahead and see to the dining arrangements? Will your wife be attending?"

Todd felt himself being lifted from his musings and back to the world. He glanced back at Greg who held a yellow pad, ready to take down his whims and cares. "What an enthusiastic fellow," thought Todd. "Is he a bug too?"

"Suzanne will not be joining us," Todd said, returning back to his desk. He wrapped his knuckles across the oak grain. "She has a book signing in Westminster tonight, I'm afraid."

"Very well then," Greg continued along, "dinner for one. I will see you there tonight, Mr. Evans."

"Yes," Todd replied absently, running his fingers along the manila folder. "Quite... I will see you there."

Watching Greg leave his study, Todd felt world weary. He sat back down at his desk, stared at the typewriter and reinserted the papers, dialing them in. And, leaving back in his chair, he could not think of what to write, or find reason to. It was just a blank page. Only, a blank page.

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