I trudged on through the dank cavern. The tunnel led up a gradual slope now. Emily had pointed me this direction and I’d met one writer. Not what I expected and my brief conversation with John, had been a bit cryptic. Although he’d given me something to think about, there’d been no advice on which path to follow. I wanted to talk with another writer. Let me revise that. Many more writers.
If I gleaned a bit of knowledge from each one, it could serve as a decent education in my learning of word craft.
A brighter light ahead encouraged me to increase my pace. In a small alcove I found him sitting in a burgundy leather club chair. Over recent years I’d read many of his books. He appeared much like the pictures on the jackets of his many books, sans coat. His hair still mostly brown and cut short, a rounded face of serious mein. At his side sat a black dog.
“Hello,” I said. May I have a moment of your time?”
“Why not? No more deadlines from my publisher now.”
“Is that Pearl?”
“None other. And who might you be?”
I introduced myself and although I wanted to tell him how much I enjoyed, and learned from, what he wrote, I restrained myself. Too mawkish, I thought. “I’m looking for a little advice from writers.”
“And you picked me?”
“You were the first I’ve found since I left Mr. Steinbeck.”
He grinned. “A bit formal, there.”
“Respectful,” I said.
“So, I suppose when you leave here you’ll refer to me as Mr. Parker?”
“What advice do you want?”
“Tell me how you begin a story,” I said.
He rubbed his chin for a moment and gave me a squinty stare. “I have reached the point where I know that as long as I sit down to write, the ideas will come. What they will be I don’t know.”
Here’s the link to my web page: http://www.bobwhite4stories.com .
Until next time, that’s it from The Storyman ….