So I'm Writing a Thing Part 4- The Library

We looked around at the plain but opulent foyer.  John Michaels staunchly refused to give up his hat to the hat-rack, insisting that it was apart of his “look cultivated especially for the occasion.”  The butler gave up after the third offer.  My heels echoed as we were led down a plain hallway of dark wood to an extensively large library.  It wasn’t quite out of Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast” but it was large.  Floor to ceiling book cases lined a large L shaped room.  There was overhead inset lighting at every bookshelf lighting up every title.  Window box seats with deep red cushions that were just perfect for cozying in with a good book on a rainy day were under each window.  There was even little directional lights on each side of the windowsill and small tables to set your tea on.  The shelves had classics such as Shakespeare and Arthur Conan Doyle as well as Turman Capote and Roger Harrington.   There was even the last set of Encyclopedia Britannica published in 2010.  All of the books appeared immaculate in hard back and most were leather-bound. 

We couldn’t quite see the short side of the L as we walked in.  There was a circle of seating in the center with stained glass lamps again in shades of grey from white to black every few seats.  No two chairs were the same, there was: a hard straight backed chair, a kneeling ergonomic chair, a Queen Anne’s chair, a chintz arm chair, a layzboy,  a papasan, a chaise, a pouf, a saddle stool, a classic office chair, a bean bag, a bar chair, and what appeared to be an African ceremonial stool.  We all stood awkwardly staring at the seating when the butler said “Please have a seat.”  Mr Yardley had to have so little company that this seating was collected from all over the house.  

John Michaels wasted no time sitting in the Queen Anne’s Chair tucking his feet underneath, and getting his recording equipment, notebook and pen ready.  The rest of us looked at each other unsure of where we should be sitting.  Mary who had rung the door bell chose the chintz arm chair and perched herself on the edge.  All of us seemed to be carefully avoiding the African Stool; I wasn’t entirely sure it was supposed to be in this collection.  Linsey, who preferred to go by Star Flower,  in flowing skirts and knitted cardigan chose the papasan.   They had long blonde hair with two dreads held back by a lace headband.  I had thoughts and feelings about the dreads, but Star Flower obviously had tried to dress to this occasion.  I sat on the pouf,  used to sitting lower  due to the weekly story times at the library.   I was thankful that the pouf was pretty sturdy and didn’t sink with my weight.  It was actually quite comfortable. I figured others needed the more traditional seating, and it was next to the saddle stool.  Nathaniel had back problems since we were kids and  I figured the saddle stool would be great for his back.  

 However Nathaniel wasn’t looking for a seat at all.  He was still staring at the different books on the shelves and working his way around to the short side of the library.   I leaned back and took in the whole view.  The short side of the L seemed to be more of the same floor to ceiling bookshelves in dark wood.  There was a small circular table at the end of the hallway next to a door that presumably lead to the rest of the house.  It appeared to have several white bottles  on it.  The bottles were nondescript and seemed to be the size of shampoo bottles.   Now that I looked there were many more on the bookshelves  around the small table.    I looked back at all of us in the  circle, almost everyone had a seat by this point.  Some has switched seats due to comfort or positioning. 

“Master Yardley is just attending to some business and will be in shortly,”  the buttler stated in  clipped tones. “ He apologizes for not being ready to attend at your arrival.  However, to be respectful of your time, Master Yardley would like you to introduce yourselves to each other.  He has specially placed a camera so that he will not miss an introduction.” The butler gestured to a camera clipped to a high bookshelf.  We waved, some hesitantly, some enthusiastically and some in a way that was reflective of 2+ years of zoom meetings.   The invitation had specifically asked us to RSVP with evidence of full vaccination, boosters and negative tests 72 and 24hrs before, as it requested that we be mask free.  I figured this was all to add more to ‘the mystique of Brian Yardley.’   John Michaels was alternately waving enthusiastically and taking notes.

We were all seated save Nathaniel who was still inspecting the shelves on the short part of the L. Mary went first.  I wasn’t sure if she was the eldest but as one of our Eastonville city counsel members seemed to always take the reins of any situation, from ringing a doorbell to ordering brunch.  

“I’m Mary Weathers.  Most of you know I sit on our city counsel, but what you may not know is I found the Duloc Elders’ Club a fan club for those of us who already had a fair amount of wisdom and years, but were always ready to gain more.”  She adjusted her glasses and patted her grey curls which had not moved from where they had been pulled back from her brown eyes as she nodded to the camera and smiled. 

With barely a moment in between John Michaels broke in “John Michaels of the Eatonville Gazette and can I just say I am so honored to be invited here for this grand occasion. Liar’s of Duloc changed my life.”  All of this spilled out in rapid succession while he was awkwardly twisted around in his chair to see the camera and wave around the high back of his royal chair.  

“I guess I’ll go next,” rumbled Mike. “Michael Duddley, but most of you all know me as Mike.” Mike was contractor who had worked on most of our houses.  He did excellent work despite being pretty much the only contractor in town.  Dressed in his typical jeans and a white botton down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.  It looked like he just stepped of a site; knowing him he probably did. “I’m not sure why I was invited.  I read the book when I was a kid and I liked it.” I noticed he was perched on the bar chair which was probably how he was most comfortable.  Perched higher looking over things and feeling like he should be at the bar instead. 

“I’m Sanjay Patel.  I think I’m here because I was almost cast as an extra when they made the movie.”  This was a fact he had let none of us forget.  Long after we left the EDLC they decided to make a TV mini-series and Eatonville was not only inspiration but cheaper to shoot in than any other major location. There was an open casting call for extras, but most of those casted were from larger nearby cities.  Sanjay never let us forget that he made it in to the second call back. He was swiveling in the office chair with the kinetic energy he seemed to keep since he was 5.  We were all surprised that he wasn’t diagnosed with ADHD.

“I go by Star Flower, and I have always felt very aligned with certain characters . . .” They continued to introduce themselves and looked back around for Nathaniel who still hadn’t taken a seat.  He was closely inspecting the books on the selves combing each title. I tried to signal to him to come sit but he was engrossed.  I turned back to the group as  Charles Wiggans began to introduce himself.  

“I’m Charles Wiggans the Fourth of the Wiggans Estate. . . “  I tuned him out.  This elderly white man had some of the oldest money in Eatonville and therefore relatively powerful.  However, his antiquated ways and the fact that his family historically owned some of the other families in Eatonville made him generally and specifically unliked.  Ms Mary’s lip curled only slightly throughout his entire introduction and I only hoped my face was as neutral.  But I could feel that it wasn’t.  

As Stephen Clark began his introductions I heard a sound from the far side of the L.  It was something between a gasp and a cry and it could only come from Nathaniel.  I looked around in concern as I caught Nathaniel hurrying through the side door.  Janine sitting next to me leaned over as surreptitiously as she could from the chaise and asked where Nathaniel was going. 

“He’s going to the bathroom, he asked when we first came in,”  I responded, not knowing but feeling like it was important that I made his actions normal.  I tried to not show my concern.  He had been acting strangely since the invitation and it seemed to escalate each moment.  I could feel his anxiety rolling off of him in waves.  But he wanted to come and be here.  I was worried, but tried to reassure Janine.  She was both the consumate mom but also the town gossip.  I didn’t want to set off rumors.  

So I'm Writing A thing Part 3- The Ranch

 So uh yeah section two was a bit steamy.  Here's the next section.

Brian Yardley’s ranch wasn’t really a ranch.  It was just a ranch style house on half an acre of land that seemed to be maybe 2400 sq feet.  The house was off set from the street with a 10 minute walk up a gravel drive.  I was unprepared for the terrain in my 2 inch chunky “interview heels” that I only wore for “work dress-up days.”  

That morning as I smoothed my shea butter, coconut oil and olive oil mix over my freshly showered skin I deliberated outfit choice with my husband Mark.  “I want to be professional, but not read like a 40-something librarian.”

“You never read like a ’40-something’ Librarian”  Mark said with a smirk rubbing body butter over my back and buttocks.  He gave my booty a light smack that had us both laughing.  “But seriously, you’re going out to some author’s ranch out in the middle of nowhere with only a handful of other people.  I think you should be in your running shoes and work out leggings.”

“That’s not very professional.” I frowned as I started the attempt to wrangle my thick curly hair into a style that I could leave the house in.  

“Come-on everyone wears athleisure  now-a-days.”  He said sitting back on the bed smiling. “Also it’s practical.  You were the one who said you never wanted to wear clothes that you couldn’t nap or run in.” 

I had given up trying to get my hair in to the largest puff cuff and settled on flat twisting the front of my hair and using a scarf to keep the rest in a modicum of a style. “That was when I was in college.  Now I’m supposed to be a professional.”  Though with my curls currently obscuring my entire vision the thought that I was a professional was pretty laughable.  

“Seriously,” Mark said all smiles out of his voice “This man is a recluse.  You are going miles away from town via transportation he scheduled. I know he wrote an amazing book 30 years ago.  But we know practically nothing about this man.  At least consider some sensible shoes.”  He looked genuinely concerned. 

I slipped into a comfortable blue and white faux-wrap dress in which I indeed had taken several naps.  “You know I’m not going by myself right.”

“The fact that Nathaniel was also invited and going is the only reason I’m allowing you to go at all.”  I raised an eyebrow at him.  “And by allowing you to go I mean, not complaining more and trying to insist that I go with you, while you do what ever you want to do, because you are grown.” 

I smiled.  Mark had learned a lot hanging out with my family.  “How about this,  I’ll wear my chunky Interview heels.”  

Now trudging up this gravel driveway I had wished I was wearing my comfortable sneakers instead.  “At least I won’t sprain an ankle.” I said to Nathaniel who was keeping pace with me.  

He gave me a weak smile.  He heard about the shoe-wear debate in the luxury bus ride over.  He seemed his old easy going self at the start of the journey every mile out of town he seemed to get more tense.  Every step he took now seemed to become more leaden.  “You know you should have listened to Mark,” he said looking ahead at the house with a foreboding that I couldn’t understand.  

“It’s just a book reading.  I don’t know why you both are trying to turn this into some kind of Stephan King novel.” I said adjusting my backpack and hoping I wasn’t beginning to show sweat through my dress. 

“Not just a book reading.  It is THE book reading of the year,” an excited journalist from the Eatonville Gazette broke in, obviously not hearing the whole conversation.  “John Michaels from the Eatonville Gazette,” he said excitedly nodding to myself and Nathaniel.  “I had a New York Times journalist begging me to give him my golden ticket,” he bragged while adjusting his pink spectacles and his white fedora with an peacock plume bouncing along with his steps. “But I said ‘not on Betty White’s life,’  May she rest in peace.”  He crossed himself and mumbled “In the name of the Mother, the Daughter, the Slut and the Friend.” 

Nathaniel and I looked at each other and grinned. We had all heard bout the “guy with two first names” who moved to Eatonville after living the “high-life” in several major cities.  He was working hard to make himself a regular at all the local stops and nowhere more so than our local drag club.  Even though Eatonville was on the edge of rural America we were always known to be quite a bit more accepting than most would assume a small town would be. 

“I’ve never heard  them referred to that way before,” I responded with a smile.  “The question is who is the slut and who is the friend.”

“Oooooh a believer,”  he responded.  “Thank you for being a friend,”  he looked at me expectantly.

“Travel down the road and back again,” I responded questioningly, having no idea what the catechism was or what this might make me a part of.”

He slipped his arm into mine and patted it. “Sadly no,  the correct answer is ‘your my family and you make me happy to be alive,’  from the pilot, but you are definitely at least a good soul if not a kindred spirit.”  He steadied me as I walked along. “Actually it was  Liars of Duloc that helped me be my whole self when I was just a little boy.   I figured if Reggie could come clean in the book when there were such high stakes so could I,” he ran on barely taking a breath between sentences. “And that is why I could never give up the opportunity to see Brian Yardley in his own home.” 

His charming babble had gotten us up to the large marble paving stones that formed the last few hundred feet to the door way.  It really was an extensive walk.  I was paying so  much attention to where my feet went I hadn’t even noticed the broad wide entry way into the house.  It was quite eclectic.  Dark wood and marble created a wide veranda with a partially overhanging balcony.  The column  were an unusual mix of clean tuscan lines with the scroll tops usually seen in grecian ionic style.   The architecture seemed to be extremely particular down to the Georgia Marble.  I didn’t even want to know how much money it took to get Georgian marble here, but I wondered why he wouldn’t choose a more local marble that wouldn’t turn from bright white to dull dark grey with the rain.  The ranch style house sprawled to either side and our group of twelve clustered around the front door.  The front door also had plain clean lines save the stained glass window with the initials BY in different shades of grey, white and black.  

“I’m so sorry,  uhm,”  John Michaels had just realized he never asked Nathaniel’s or my name., “Dear, but I must attended to my recording equipment and get up to the front.”  He unlinked my arm and kissed my hand “But we will talk again.”  He gave a slight bow and waded to the front of the line while adjusting something in his front pocket.

“What a character,” I said turning back to Nathaniel on my left side.  However Nathaniel was now staring intently at the door with an intensity I had never seen.  

He glanced in my direction but didn’t meet my eyes.  “Oh yeah, he’s something.”

“Nathaniel.”  

“Hey, I’m fine.” He said completely unconvincingly.  He pulled me to him, gave me a hug and kissed my forehead. We lingered in the hug while Mary, an older woman, rang the doorbell which was a red satin cord hanging next to the brass handle.  I indulged in the scent, comfort, and solidness of him before the moment was broken by the sound of the door opening.  

A buttler in a black vest and tie with an English accent greeted us. “Ah, yes the reading party.  Master Yardley will see you in the library.”  I had to smile.  Why is it that all “fancy” houses have an English buttler: Batman, Clue, The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.  It was so much of a trope I almost laughed out loud.  I stifled my amusement to a smile and a cough and crossed the threshold with the rest of the invitees. 

So I'm writing a thing - Part 2 Nate & Eric

So uhmm yeah part two ..  Try to ignore the spacing between paragraphs it's a bit of a copy and paste edit. 

I was one of a dozen from Eatonville who was invited to this exclusive book reading and signing at his ranch.  I don’t think it was a coincidence that most of us had been a part of the Eatonville Duloc Liars (EDL) Club.  One of the many book clubs around the nation that popped up around the nation.   Eatonville had one of the longest starting the year that the book was published and continuing to this day.  The last few kids were planning on bringing it to a close at the last chapter meeting (held quarterly in the library), but with the news of the prequel being released interest and membership has grown over the last 18 months.  

    The invitations came in the mail with the list of all 12 who had been invited.  I was happily surprised to see Nathaniel’s name on the list.  We had been friends since childhood and more recently had become romantic partners.  Nate was one of the founding members of the EDL Club as we called it. He was an active member and even president until he suddenly quit.  It was a few months after our friend Eric went missing.  

I should say his friend Eric.  The rest of us were only passing acquaintances with Eric.  Eric’s parents had left him with his grandparents in Etonville when he was 6.  His grandparents, in their 70’s by that point, were sterner and stuffier.  He went to school, then home and did chores.  Eric never seemed happy.  Nathaniel and Eric lived in the same direction so they walked part of the way home together.   About 2 months before Eric went missing his grandmother had a stroke that left her mostly paralyzed.  One month later his grandfather died from massive heart attack.  Then Eric went missing.  We all figured he was just trying to find his parents and get away from the burden of being the sole caregiver to a nearly 80yr old.  But Nate never believed our reasoning. 

We were all waiting in the library for our meeting to start.  The EDL Club was trying to decide on which books we would read for the summer and what awards we would give for each reading tier.  The library had given us the responsibility to do the summer reading club for the middle school and junior high grades.  We felt it was a great responsibility.  Nate came in looking disheveled, almost like he had been walking through a rain storm though it was sunny out side.  Even his locs, shoulder length after meticulously growing them out for the last 5 yrs, seemed to droop.  We all stopped talking as we saw him walk in; all except for Roger who was quickly laying out his plan for the 7^th graders.  

“Hey.” Nate said in a voice much weaker than his usual jovial lilt.  

At this point Roger, finally, stoped talking and gasped as he saw Nate’s eyes.   Nate’s eyes had always been bright.  The edges always near crinkling up in a smile or laughter.  The deep browns could capture anyone he made contact with and lighten their load.  Now his eyes seemed, not dull but darkened.  They darted around the room not quite making contact with anyone.

“I’m resigning.  I can’t do this any more, not with . . .”  And without finishing his sentence he turned on his heel and left.  He cut off his locs a week later and didn’t start regrowing them until after college.  He never told me the reason he quit.  Not even after we were partners.  Lazy mornings in bed in post coital bliss could be ruined by bringing up Eric’s name.  It only took being left in bed while he took a shower and our brunch plans canceled once before I never tried again. 

We happened to have a date planned the night our invitations arrived.  I decided at risk for the evening ahead to ask him.

“So I got an invitation in the mail today.”  Nathaniel stopped eating his stuffed chicken breast but didn’t look up at me.  “I saw your name on it as well as mine.”  He slowly started chewing again and swallowed. 

“Yeah,” he responded.  His tone flat and face blank.

“I was wondering if you were planning on going.”  I quickly rushed on.  In for a penny in for a pound I figured. “I’ll be going as a part of the library of course, and it would be great to have a friend there.”  Be both knew most everyone on the list, our town wasn’t that big, but he also knew what I meant.  

His eyes still hadn’t met mine yet and I was surprised when he said “Yes.” He looked up and his eyes had the same hurt I saw the day he resigned from EDL.  We sat there in silence for nearly a minute. I wanted to ask more but didn’t want to ruin the rest of the night.  He went back to eating his stuffed chicken and I returned to my tuna steak salad.  

Our conversation slowly flowed back to normal. Later that night when Nathaniel entered me it was with a release and a relaxation we both needed.  We both sighed as he stroked inside me with a desultory rhythm that always brought forth a cascade of climaxes.  We completely let go losing ourselves in the feeling of each other.  My mind hazed and every muscle relaxed as I let the pleasure sweep away all thoughts, worries, and anxieties.  My clit throbbed under his fingers as his erection pressed just the right spot deep inside and I gushed spraying over him, soaking the towels and comforters I put down to protect the bed.  I felt his erection swell as he came into me sighing deeply.   Later in the shower as we were cleaning up he kissed my shoulder. Nathaniel was behind me and I couldn’t see his face, but he held me in the running water his penis between my cheeks.  

I was thinking about grinding back onto him and getting things messy again when he said, “I’m glad you are going. I don’t think I could do this without having a friend there.”  My dirty thoughts immediately stopped and we just stood there letting the steam cloud our vision and water cleanse us. 

So I'm Writing a thing Part 1 - The Opening

 Preface - So this is based on a dream and has spiraled into a much longer story- 

The Opening 

Everyone knows my town, Eatonville.   We’re only famous because of the story The Liars of Duloc., a YA novel published in 1985.  It was so poplar that it was on the New York Times best seller list for nearly 3 months.  Yardley the author lived in the outskirts of town where the cornfields take over the suburban wasteland.  He based it his story about four kids who ended up taking over the town after taping into some “ancient Native American magic”. It was based on one 12yr old who ran ran for mayor due to a loophole in the law.

It was an AMAZING story, all about youth, truth, values, culture.  It hit us all in the 80’s and reverberated through the 90’s.  The physical book actually still has a 1-2 person waiting list in the library.  I remember shortly after I became an junior librarian at the Eatonville library when we finally retired our original edition for a 2000’s reprinting. Most kids now get the digital book or audiobook.  I can’t believe it was the same reader who did Harry Potter years before he won a Grammy.  

We were ecstatic when we found out he was writing a pre-quel.  Brian Yardley had always been a bit of an enigma.  I mean few people have an amazing best selling YA novel and then just walk away and never write again. I mean he was no Anna Sewell.   We all knew he was healthy and well; we saw him in town every few weeks.  But it was like he wrote his epic and never wrote again. 

Until now.  I was so excited when I saw the news release.  Even more so when I got the invitation to a private book reading at his house as the head Eatonville librarian.  This is a book that had changed the lives of so many kids.  Helped them achieve their dreams.  They often shared it with their parents to help them understand.  I was hoping it wouldn’t be another Harper Lee or Tomas Harris situation.  There had been so much anticipation around continuing the story only to have the stories completely warp beloved characters.  Yes even Hannibal Lecter is well loved.

So I wrote a thing #1

 Welcome to "So a I wrote a thing."   Random fiction writing from me.  This one inspired by @EreikaWritesFic 

`

Cindy stared at the shoes and then glanced up at three magnificent pairs of wings.  The butterfly wings were iridescent blue, violet and black sitting slightly below the dragonfly wings.   

“How did she get in here,” Cindy wondered.  

The dragonfly wings were the same clear blue turquoise of the shoes and at least the height of the enchanted creature and a half.  The last set of wings were feathered, or at least looked like they were feathered.  No, may be they were scaled, or mirrored.  They seemed to consistently shift as if they were made of nothing more than imagination.  

“Where did you get that coat.”  Cindy heard someone in the crowd inquire.  

And she could see why.  The coat was perfectly fitted around the exposed wings in shifting shades of each of the wings.  The pattern swirled over a dark material that served to let the colors of the wings shine brighter.  The skirt was a perfect tea length of the same dark material and seemed to be dotted with shifting dust that floated down from the wings as they shook with the creature’s laughter.  

Cindy overwhelmed by the sight exclaimed, “I didn’t know there were any fairy godmothers left in my father’s realm.”

The wings abruptly stopped moving as the enchanted one slowly turned to face the little girl.  They arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow as their rainbow eyes narrowed on Cindy.  The jacket showed their brown skin almost to the navel and was linked with strings of stones both common and precious but each pulsing with magic.  

“Your father’s realm,” They said questioningly.  “Anyone with basic education knows that this is the land of the Tree Dwarves. Land that they grew and cultivated long before man knew anything of the Fare Ways.   Land that the Elders of the Elm allowed the humans to find refuge on when they had no other place to go, and entrusted care to when the Tree Dwarves left to find The Song.”  

Cindy’s cheeks burned bright red.  But the enchanted one’s wings began to move again.

“Ah, but you are a child. You words betray the ignorances and the fatuousness of man in this era. Though I had thought your father’s court was more progressive.”   They sighed and took a drink from their champagne flute as chatter began around them again. “However, “  they bent down to meet Cindy eye to eye: rainbow to blue. “You should know I’m a Fairy Godparent.” 

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