Woo hoo! Totally did it! Even with the six days I missed, I’m pretty darn happy with how the month went. Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in my created fantasy world writing that I forgot, or more often feel, that I have no other stories inside me. It has been refreshing to let go of that space and get out of my head, and it has given me the added bonus of boosting my much needed final revision/editing of the last six chapters of my novel. Thanks so much to everyone who has been following along this month. I’m sure many of you already know how amazingly (and needlessly!) scary it can be to throw your fiction out into the world, which is what makes these past four weeks even more wonderful. Enjoy the last story of May, and I’ll have a progress report in the next couple of days on whatever I feel like writing about. 🙂
May 31, 2015
The kettle whistled. She turned the burner knob off quickly, knowing that the louder it became, the more likely the dog was to bark. The dog did not care for the high-pitched, insistent squeal of steam.
A lavender teabag lay nestled at the bottom of the ceramic mug. It wasn’t a small mug, although she had one of those brown hotel mugs, taken once out of a want to always have one of the plain, almost Middle Ages looking item. Apt to drink out of it while reading fantasy novels or imagining fantastical characters who carried swords. So simple, the shape of a mug or teacup. Simple and pleasing. This one wasn’t over sized either, not that she didn’t have plenty of those kind.
A red glaze, warm in tone, colored this mug. She liked it for its reminiscent upside-down bell shape and the smoothness of its surface. She liked the art of making hot tea, and the vessel must reflect the mood.
This particular evening, she felt contemplative. Settled and content. A long day after little sleep turned less exhaustive by a simple yet delicious dinner, and time spent playing tug-of-war with the dogs in the cooling evening air. She’d picked a sprig of lavender from the garden, just to rub the leaves so she could smell it on her fingers. The fresh sprig rested on the kitchen windowsill, reminding her again of her imagined world and all those characters swirling about her head.
She added sugar to the mug, and poured steaming water from the red kettle. The fragrant tea begging to be tasted, though it would have to wait a few minutes. There is simply no rushing tea.