O, but my head is full of ideas!
Yesterday evening we had an official meeting. Looking back, I realize we sat rather like a first grade class at lunch. All the women were clustered on one end, while X and I sat across from them. X and I haven’t talked much yet. Certainly, he’s an intriguing fellow. I mean, look, he’s old and eccentric, a stereotype given flesh, and, as often happens, more mysterious for being so easily dismissed as a stereotype.
Really, though, I’ve always found him a bit boring. Normally, at faculty meetings, his words are so slow and thought out I could have accomplished half what he proposed in the time it took him to explain it.But at this meeting, Miss Talbot informed us that the Story Project had its own space on the Lem Institute’s computer network, where all our stories would be saved for use in a forthcoming literary publication. I slapped my hand on the table when I heard that word – publication. X patted me gently on the shoulder. I wanted to shake him, to see him excited, ready to kick up his dusty heels. He was, probably. But how does he stay so calm about it? I can write people, but I don’t know if I’ll ever understand them.
That night I accessed the files. Lo and behold, what is this? A story by the Lady Katrina? O, and how sweet and wonderful it was, a true romance, with forbidden longing and a happy resolution.
I approached her today to congratulate her on her work. She inclined her head slightly, without a smile, until I declared that she was far softer within than she portrayed herself.
“It is fiction, Lancelot,” she said. “It is made up. If I wrote only what I thought and felt, I would be a poor writer, indeed.”
Still, I think she only says that. Such is a rose, that it has many thorns.
I have decided to write a story of love, dedicated to her. O, but the plot of it boils in my mind! I may not sleep tonight. And I shall present it to her, piece by piece, slowly working upon her affections. It is a perfect plan, a wondrous plan. And if it does not work…?
Well, love perseveres.