Each morning when I sit down to complete my ten minutes of writing to the Creative Caffeine prompt, I have no idea what I might say. I rarely think that I have something to say. At the same time I rarely hesitate, hovering over the keyboard, waiting for something to overtake me. Usually I just begin. Often what happens is a character will appear, usually a woman. And that character will decide what she has to say. Often she acts out something of her daily life that is troubling her. She navigates the relationships with her bosses and friends, doing her best to control what happens between her and them. Sometimes she has no power, but not often.
She’s usually in control as I record her starting or ending her days, more or less satisfied with her efforts. I always enjoy peeking into her life. It seems voyeuristic. Did she invite me in? No, not usually. But I”ve entered her apartment, seen who she’s entertaining, know her innermost thoughts. And she doesn’t know I’m watching and listening.
She doesn’t need to know. I enjoy her struggles, her machinations, her wiles that often make me laugh. Sometimes her dishonestly with friends shocks me but I’m always sympathetic.
I never think that I’m the one who created her. She is alive on her own. I just sit down and my fingers move over the keyboard and it is her who’s telling the story. I am simply a scribe, a notetaker like the people who record the proceedings in courts of law. Fingers move, brain doesn’t react to what’s being recorded. I am a reporter during these morning visits. And then I brazenly share my reports with you. You’d think I’d be ashamed at my actions, but I’ve never stopped to think about that. However I am trespassing on these women’s lives by sharing. So please be discreet when you read the reports of their most intimate thoughts. I don’t mean to harm them, I just want to bring them to life.
If these women really didn’t want to be seen, they’d stop showing up at the end of my fingertips each morning.