The writing totem stares at me, his expression surly and smirking. His beard has faded from dark brown to auburn, and his hair is washed out, not brown, not green, but not grey either. He’s aged, as if by the ether of my past wishes and faded dreams and stands rebuking my efforts as paltry. His hands still grasp at nothing. The only things that remain unchanged are the black watch cap and painted black t-shirt. Even his painted-on jeans have begun to look like a 90’s acid-washed version of the original.
But his stare, the one that forced me to write, put down my ideas, still glares. A sentinel and reminder that he’s doomed to fade like the story, a scrap of time and passion that is meaningless unless published.
I belong to a local writing group of amazing people. During a meeting where we discussed what we read and felt comfortable critiquing, one member announced that he didn’t like cozy mysteries, especially those with the retired cop…so I made him a character in my amateur sleuth. During Nanowrimo, I won a plain Funko doll and created a writing totem in his image. When I showed it to the group, they laughed, except for B, who is seriously concerned about my voodoo doll of him 0_o…LOL! Hadn’t considered the weirdness. Fingers crossed as I begin to query my revised mystery that it finds a home.
Happy Flash Fiction Friday:)