Doug Marlette Said
Today’s writing quote comes about in a little different way. Each day has a slice of time spent searching and reading about writers and books, and lists of those things. I enjoy stories of how writers found their paths and what obstacles they overcame. Those tales sustain my muses. I’m always behind on reading, dashing up a treadmill that never lets me catch up. I’m fortunate to have met some wonderful writers and editors, and I’ve casually dropped some of their quotes into my posts.
Today comes along those lines. A friend of mine is a struggling writer and a former editor who deals with some health issues related to his mind and disposition, conditions which deliver heavy doses of worry to his friends and family. After he and I chatted over drinks one day, he told me about editing The Bridge by Doug Marlette and gave me a copy of the book to read. This week found me unearthing that novel in my list of books to read. I’m pretty astonished that my friend, a reserved but friendly man, was involved in bringing such a book to the shelves.
Anyway, as part of reading the book, I researched and read about the author. So here is a quote. Cheers
Friday Change
Slow for a Friday, the coffee shop was relatively quiet. The baristas’ joking behind the counter was actually heard across the business.
Only three other patrons occupied tables. Regulars, he knew their names, drinks, and faces. He supposed that they knew the same for him. Maybe not. Maybe they weren’t as observant as him or didn’t care.
A thin sigh passed his lips. He was supposed to be writing but it was one of those days when procrastination stopped him like a mudslide blocking a road. He was a little bored, tired, and restless. I’ll begin in a minute, he told himself, and noted the time. Yeah, like he was really that disciplined and focused. More coffee will help, he decided.
Reaching for the cup, he glanced at the coffee shop table. The blond wood – he didn’t know what kind it was – had a dark knot which resembled a mustache. As he chuckled at that, he spotted two small symmetrical knots above the mustache. They were like eyes, he mused, sipping coffee.
The eyes blinked at him.
His body quailed with alarm as his mind shouted, “What the hell?” He set the coffee down.
A new knot rose, forming a mouth below the mustache.
He looked around the coffee shop. No one was near. He wanted to show someone as validation for his sanity, and then pulled out his phone to photograph the small developing face. As he raised the phone for the photo, the mouth moved.
“Help me,” he heard. “Help.”
Pulling back, he lowered the phone. Friday was about to change in ways he’d never planned.
The Writing Moment
It’d been an eyeblink. He’d been writing like crazy. He swears that he felt like he just sat down and opened the docs, delving into the novel, picking up the pieces of where he is and where he was going.
Coffee remains in his cup, but it is cold. This is an icy day, and the cold coffee doesn’t entice him. His rear end resents the chair’s hard seat. He has no idea how much he wrote and revised. Three more chapters were added and edited, other sections put under the editing grinder and polished, ensuring these new pieces fit smoothly as possible for this draft.
Time to stand up, stretch, and breathe. Back to life.
Back to reality.
He smiled as The Neurons remembered that song and stuck in his music stream. Fortunately, coffee shop music flowed in and overpowered the Soul II Soul song.
He wondered, though, will it show up in tomorrow’s morning mental music stream?
Michael Seidel, writer 