The third and final part of my series about the joys of writings. These pieces are written in one of my favorite writing styles, slice of life.
She huddled under the outstretched arms of her favorite oak tree, quietly scribbling in her notebook. Things had become unbearable at home and the only place she felt safe to vent her thoughts was to be found in the silent pages bound with spiral in her purse. Her hand cramping, she wrote until she had purged her soul. Peace would only come once she was poured out.
Seated at her favorite cafe she weaved her next tale. She dreamed of a life in the country. Living in a grand house with and even grander family. Complex characters, facing the challenge that the changing times invariably bring us. She wrote. Pausing only briefly to glance at the building across the street and the woman tiding the store windows. Would that woman ever hear her story? Would she become famous one day? She doubted it but, stranger things have happened…
She spent her days with her head in the clouds. Dreaming of a life sweeter than her own. She felt like an outsider at home. Her sisters were quite content to spend their days plotting and scheming, convinced that the next would be suitor would in fact be the last. She couldn’t stand it. She dreamt of nothing more than a quiet little cottage. Some place nestled next to a stream. Bedrooms, stuffed to the brims with books. What man could possibly beat Captain Wentworth or Mr. Darcy? So she wrote. Writing of a love she doubted really existed but, wouldn’t it be marvelous if it did?