HER UNEXPECTED MUSE

HER UNEXPECTED MUSE

1.

On Saturday evening, after her first year in college, Carol lay on her bed, propped up against the headboard with pillows, to relax after a full and busy day. A day filled with neighbors and high school friends stopping by to welcome her back home. Many questions were asked and Carol did her best to answer each one until they had all left for home. Her Mother, figuring she needed to be alone for awhile, said goodnight to her. 

Carol lovingly looked around her bedroom, the only one she could call her own, at the memories it provided her. As she grew older the contents in the room changed, of course, but with it new memories appeared with the change. Now, the wall opposite her bed was mostly reserved for bookcases holding her collection of books. Dividing the bookcases was her desk. To her right were the windows that overlooked their large back yard. To her left was a small television she had mounted on the wall above her keepsake table. A small bathroom, closets and framed photographs of family and friends filled up the space along that wall.

Although Carol was happy she was home living with her parents and brother Jack she needed to discuss something that has been on her mind for many months. And she decided to talk to her Grandmother Lucy, because she always felt more comfortable asking her for advice than anyone else. And, assuming she was home, Carol was going to visit her Grandma late Sunday morning.

2, 

Her Grandmother lived a block away on a street facing a local city park. When Carol arrived at her house she was welcomed with a warm smile and a hug, then invited into the livingroom where they sat down near each other.

“Granny, I know we have all Summer to talk, but now I want to ask for some advice from you,” Carol began.

“Sweety, I sort of figured that out from your expression,” her Grandmother said, then asked her, “Can I get you anything, something like coffee?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine. And I’m not sure how to start this, but I’m wondering if you remember when I was twelve and we were sitting down for our Thanksgiving Dinner and I stood up and told everyone I was going to be a teacher?”

“Of course I remember that, and few were surprised because both of your parents and your Uncle Chuck are teachers.”

“Granny, you’ve always had an excellent memory.”

“I wouldn’t call it excellent, but thank you.”

“I’m hoping you remember what you told me after dinner when we were alone.”

“Yes, Carol. I suggested you wait to decide what you really want to do with the rest of your life because you’re still so young,” she told her granddaughter, then asked, “And this is a part of the reason for your visit?”

“Yes, it is. You know I’ve always loved to read. And as I got older I started to read more serious literature.” 

“Perfectly natural for an intelligent young woman.”

“Thank you, but I also want to become a serious writer.”

“I’m sure you’ll become one, Sweety.”

“Thank you for you faith in me, but I don’t know where to begin. I’ve read the how-to books and know all the basics and my grammar is always correct, but each time I’ve tried to write a short story I’m never happy with the results.”

“You could start by writing about your personal experiences, starting from childhood through high school,” her Grandmother suggested.

“I know that, but there’s just too many of them over so many years. I don’t know if I should write about one experience or combine many into one story.” 

“Yes, that can be a problem.”

“I want my first finished story to be really good, If doesn’t have to be perfect. But I want it to be good enough to encourage me to keep writing.”

“I understand that well. I went through the same thing when I first started writing poetry and wanted it to be really good.”

“I really don’t know what to do, Grandma. Maybe I should write a story about a young woman who wants to become a serious writer and doesn’t know what to write about first?” Carol said in jest.

“That’s a great idea.”

“Really?”

“Of course it is. And by the end of the story, if written the right way, it will appeal to any young writer going through what you’re going through. My only suggestion to you is that by the end of your story you’ll have figured out how to write it with a conclusion you’ll really like. And it’s always okay to edit parts of it until you’re satisfied  with your efforts. And if you think the story still isn’t exactly what you want, don’t give up. Do the needed re-writes until you’re happy. Honey, what if you fell down and hurt yourself when you were learning to walk? Everything is a learning process,”

“And thank you for being my Muse, Granny.”

“Actually, Sweety, the idea was your own. You were your own muse.”

Carol rose quickly, hugged her Grandmother, then thanked her and headed back to her bedroom. where her laptop was sitting on her desk. That evening, after thinking about the story for awhile, she hand wrote parts of it to see how it looked on paper, then started typing the story.

As she started writing the story she felt that she was always meant to be a writer. But, being realistic about it, she knew most writers never make enough money from their writing to live off what they write. So she would become a teacher to pay her bills. Still, when she became good enough to be proud of her writing Carol would call herself a writer who also teaches English classes.