Journaling: My Most A-Muse-ing Journey So Far

With more journaling, the new I see,

I’m now the girl I really meant to be

I felt I had but wasn’t sure

If way down deep housed tales galore

Now in class on creative writing

I watch the fictional words alighting

I’m attending (Full Disclosure: I’m retaking a Creative Writing 101class,  because of writing confidence gained through journaling and I really liked my teacher).  I just turned in my first assignment—writing a 500-word story about:

The Window

Jacoby Cottage, a 15th century Glastonbury bungalow provides 21st century pilgrims bed and breakfast, and spirits at no extra charge. Each day, my sister-traveler CB and I breakfasted with commercial-free BBC 2 radio before resuming residence in our respective writing homestead.  CB trekked up into the multi-leveled garden and its yurt to work on her third novel. I cajoled crumbs into the trash bin and converted the dining room table into wide open spaces for writing notebooks, and muses that would surely happen by any day now.

The room's only natural light source was a 12-paned window which two healthy jade plants adorned. British sun, as fickle as its rain drops, prompted my daily aerobic exercise as I got up and I got down and I got up and I got down from the light switch.

I opened my purple-sparkled journal and entered Thursday's question of the day, “Why am I here?” prefaced of course with a spot of tea and a few too many shortbreads. My daily writing jumpstart done, time for a tea warm up and some biscuits.  Nursing my Builder’s Tea brew, I glanced out the window, expecting to find uniformed school children en route but saw instead, his densely curled hair, his Oxford accent, his tentative smile. Everything about him last Sunday night.

My bitters and chips craving and general curiosity had drawn me to sample the George & Pilgrims Hotel pub, a 500 year old resting and watering place, at the far end of High Street. While navigating my way to the bar, a sea sprayed JCrew blazer abruptly turned around and presented a chiseled face and a splash of lager to the front of my blouse.

“Ah, sorry,” he said.

“Oh, I'm not,” I replied.
He smiled. “Let me buy you some bitters so you can clean your shirt.”
''Please make that a double since I came into drink bitters, not wear them” I said.

He scanned around me.  'Right. Are you with anyone?”

“If you mean of the human being persuasion, no. I can’t vouch for any spiritual entities that might be along for the ride.”

“Right. How about you catch that table in the corner for us, take my pint and I'll bring the bitters and a proper apology?”

“Great. I was here to get some chips as well. Please?”

“Can do. Chips not crisps, eh?” he wondered.

“And lots of vinegar, too. I added. That’s it, I’m going to find us a table now.”

When he appeared with two bottles plus glass and the chips on order, I felt the panic of attraction, sensing that I didn’t need this rendezvous but wanting it more than anything in my life so far. My right shoulder blade was my first early warning sign of impending danger and it was already in overdrive. Slow and steady breaths helped return me to center. 

I released my lower jaw but no sounds surfaced.

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Please visit ‘A Journaler’s Journey’ a collection of blog posts about Journalers' adventures in Journaling. We'd love to publish your article...submit it to Mari@CreateWriteNow.com.