The Muse
Luke Whittier had a problem. Well, more than one, if truth be told. He had recently came to realize that he had no direction. Currently, he sat in front of a computer, a model that had been discontinued years earlier. He sat in silence, waiting for something to happen. Hours had passed already, and still nothing.
Luke was a writer by trade, or at least that's what his agent told him continually. Rather sternly, to be honest, since he was behind on his deadline-again. Watching the cursor flash wasn't helping much either. He had been unable to write a single word in a week.
A shrill ringing sounded from his right. Luke jumped. He'd been lost in his own thoughts again. He looked at the phone, finally answering on the third ring. "You've reached the headquarters of the League of Darkness and Despair."
He heard a long-suffering sigh before the gruff voice of his agent came on the line. "Well, that's cheery. You caught up on that deadline yet?"
Luke paused, considering his options. He could lie and say yes. Or he could be honest, and get yelled at thoroughly. He came back to himself when he heard his agent shouting his name. "Um, hi Mitch. Nearly there. Hey, question, if you had a main character that was driving you nuts, what would you do?"
Luke put his feet up on his desk and ran a hand through his short dark hair. Mitch was quiet for a minute; then sighed again. "Deal with it and write anyway."
He pursed his lips, adjusted his glasses and gave a short burst of laughter. "It would be so much easier to kill him."
You were having problems with that character last week. You haven't written a word, have you?"
"Uh, not exactly. But it isn't for lack of trying. I have been trying."
"You've been sitting in front of your computer all day probably. Go out, do something. Clearly staring at the screen isn't working."
"Like out, out? As in around people? Man, something has you in a good mood. You usually try and keep me isolated in the middle of a deadline."
Mitch laughed, "Yeah, but I'm tired of having to stick bamboo shoots under your fingernails to keep you on track. So, I'm trying a different approach."
Luke leaned back in his chair, his bathrobe fluttering open as the tie came undone. "Good to hear, cause all that bamboo junk made it hard to type. Alright, I'll grab my violin and go play in the park for a bit."
There was a long pause, before Mitch blurted out, "And may the Lord preserve all who are at the park today."
He hung up before Luke could reply. God knows what he would have said, but it would have been a gem surely. He shoved himself off the chair, sighing heavily. He got to this point in all of his books. The point when he was ready to give up and murder all his characters.
Luke rummaged through his dresser drawers, looking for the cleanest set of clothes. None of them were clean necessarily, but if they weren't standing up unaided then it was good enough. He looked at himself briefly in the mirror-in his trademark jeans and solid color tee shirt-grabbed his violin case and set off for the park.
The autumn air was cold and fresh. Luke breathed it in, relishing the smell of autumn leaves, car exhaust, and a slight marshy scent from the nearby beach. He sat down on the worn wooden bench. Carefully and slowly he lifted his violin from its case.
The simple beauty of the instrument always humbled him. He rosined up his bow and tightened the strings. After a few minutes spent tuning his instrument, Luke gently laid it on his shoulder and began to play. It wasn't any particular tune; it was just what came to his mind.
He closed his eyes and lost himself in the music, and the roar of the sea behind him. Almost as soon as the first tune ended his heart felt lighter. Gradually though, he began to feel a little uncomfortable. That feeling of being watched was overwhelming him.
Finally unable to stand it any longer, he opened his eyes to find his audience. A young woman was standing several feet away, watching him quietly. She had sparkling green eyes and short red hair. When she saw that he had noticed her, she laughed a bit and blushed violently. "Oh, don't let me bother you. Please continue."
Luke raised his eyebrows, "Seriously? You actually liked that?"
She shuffled a little closer to him, pulling her jacket tighter around her. Are you kidding? It was beautiful. I assume that this is how you make a living?"
He laughed and lowered his violin to his lap, "No, no, I don't play for a living. I'm a writer." He wrinkled his eyebrows, "Well I try to be a writer."
"That sounds exciting."
"Not really. Frankly I don't even know why I'm writing anymore. But I don't have much choice anymore, I've got a deal in place."
She considered for a moment, furrowing her brow. "But you must enjoy it on some level, or you wouldn't do it." She grinned slightly, "I'm going to take a guess and say you have a case of writer's block."
Luke smiled and hung his head a little, "Very bad actually. I haven't been able to write in a week."
"Why not?"
"No inspiration."
She raised her eyebrows, "You're waiting for inspiration? Just write. They call it a rough draft for a reason."
"But I have no idea what to write."
"Write anything. Anything you put on that page is more than what you had before. And more than likely you'll get a great idea in the process."
Luke stared at her, blinking slowly. Clearly this woman had no idea what writing was all about. He couldn't just sit back and write anything. He sat there and spluttered, "But writing that way only produces bad writing. That wouldn't be publishable."
She shrugged and shifted a little, "It's only a rough draft. Take it out later. Or you could just give up."
Without another word, the young woman turned on her heel and walked away. Luke stared after her, contemplating her final words. Both things seemed like completely unreasonable solutions. Either give up, or write nonsense. He shook his head; clearly the woman was delusional.
He lifted his violin again and started to play. After only a few minutes he found that his heart just wasn't in it. As ridiculous as it seemed, he couldn't get her out of his mind. Finally, Luke shook his head and put his violin away.
As he walked back to his cramped and cluttered apartment he tried to focus on anything but the conversation he had just had. The sun had started to set before he realized that he had passed his building. Why couldn't people just leave his life alone? Everyone seemed to have an opinion and they all seemed to disagree.
He could abandon his writing and take up the life of a musician. Wandering his way to his front door he wondered what it would take to renege on this book deal. When he walked into his apartment, he went immediately to the phone and dialed Mitch. His agent picked up on the last ring.
"Mitch, it's Luke. I need your help."
Mitch was quiet for a moment, "Help? I swear to God Whittier, if you ask me about that darn character again I'm"
Luke snorted a bit. "No. Not that kind of help. I need to know how I can get out of this book deal."
The voice on the other end spluttered then shouted over the line, "You had better be kidding. I am not going to get you out of this deal. Just because you have writers' block, does not mean you're giving up."
"Are you telling me it's not possible?"
"No, I'm telling you that I will not let you quit. What would you do anyway?"
"Play violin on the street."
Mitch was silent for so long that Luke thought he might have hung up. Only when he had called his name several times did he respond. "You are a bigger moron than I thought. Playing violin on the street? I'm speechless, I really am."
Luke sighed and waited for the violent muttering to cease. "Just look into it. Don't make any decisions, just find out the terms."
Luke didn't hear anything from Mitch for several days. He filled his time in the park, playing to his heart's content. He discovered that it was harder than he first imagined. No one seemed inclined to drop a dollar in his violin case, but they would stand and listen at length.
Several times he had bellowed at them to either give up the cash or shove off. Truthfully, that hadn't helped matters, but it had certainly made him feel better. The most profound thing, however, was that Luke was happy. He woke up, did something he loved all day, and went to sleep. No amount of money was worth that kind of peace.
When Luke finally got the call from Mitch, he was prepared to do anything it took to stop this whole book nonsense. Mitch sounded very exhausted when he called, "Have you come to your senses yet?"
When he received no response, Mitch continued, "Alright look, it's possible to renege on the deal. They want their advance money back though."
Luke swallowed, "All of it? Cause most of it is spent."
"All eight hundred thousand dollars of it?"
He cursed thoroughly for a long time. Finally, his agent interrupted him, "Can't you just finish this book and take it from there?"
"Well I really have no other choice do I? I don't have the money to give back."
"Luke, what is so wrong with writing? You're good at it, you really are. And you enjoy it, most of the time anyway. Why is everything black and white with you? Ok, you love your music, and that's great. Set a goal, write two thousand words, and play for the rest of the afternoon. Writing pays the bills man, it really boils down to that."
Mitch hung up on him without waiting for a response. Luke sat in his chair for a long time, lost in thought. Mitch was right, as usual. Things were always black and white with him. It had always been that way. He had made a good point; music could be a hobby. And he did enjoy his writing sometimes, plus it did keep the lights on.
Sighing, Luke threw himself in his chair again and turned on his computer. It was now or never, maybe it was time to compromise. Everyone could learn something new. Maybe this was his time to learn something. He pulled up his manuscript and stared at the screen.
"Well, this is it, I suppose. Let's do this thing."
He turned to the screen and typed one word. It wasn't a lot, it didn't even make sense, but then he typed another word and another. Within one hundred words, Luke didn't care if what he was writing was good. Like that strange woman has said, that's what editing was for.
Luke breezed along, writing at a fast clip. He wasn't writing any particular genius prose. But it was something, and slowly an idea of what he wanted to do was forming in his head. Maybe all those years being so stubborn and unyielding had been for naught. Smiling, he finished his next three thousand words before noon. It was time for a reward now. Luke grabbed his violin case and set off for the park, determined to find his mysterious muse and thank her.