I'm sitting at my desk, staring into space. This is a rare occasion, but truth be told, I’m stuck. Try as I might, the article I'm working on just doesn’t seem right. I've been typing and editing for the past three hours or so. I've leaned back and reread the whole thing, I’ve changed the angle several times, I’ve stopped and written something else. Nothing seems to help. The article on my computer screen is still too long and too complicated. I’d probably lose the majority of my readers before I have even managed to get my point across. I lean back again and heave a sigh. Wistfully, I look at the picture that sits on my desk, right next to the computer screen.
What an opening! This shows that after all the investigating and stakeouts, the story has to be written and done in such a way as to draw the readers into the article. It is what all writers strive to do, either for a newspaper article of a novel. Speaking of which, if anyone wants to understand about the difficulties of writing, I recommend watching
Finding Forrester a film done in 2000 and the late great Sean Connery as the title character. What a shame that in all the articles recently written about Mr. Connery this film is never mentioned. Portraying such vulnerability on his part took a tremendous amount of humility and courage.
Just to be on the safe side, I push back my chair and decide that a nice cup of newsroom coffee might help me solve my dilemmas, both the emotional and the verbal. I reach for the mug of stale coffee that is still left and pour it onto the plant on my desk. With a pang of guilt, I realize it looks rather sickly.
Good heavens! That poor plant has suffered so many indignities from Lois and newsroom coffee. No wonder its appears is down in the mouth!
"No reason to keep everybody from working,” Perry barks, “Now, this party is over. There is a newspaper to write.” His stern gaze drifts through the newsroom until everyone but Jimmy and me has hurried back to work.
Yup, this is how a newsroom is run!
The audience claps as Charles King walks up to the stage. Tall and broad shouldered, he could have made quite an impression if it hadn't been for his haggard features and slumped shoulders. He leans onto a cane and drags his right leg after him in a heavy limp. As in the photo, thick frames, long black hair and a full grown beard hide most of his face.
Oh good grief! What happened to Clark!
The kiss that followed still takes my breath away, even if there is nothing left of it but a memory. It had been a moment of pure bliss. His hands on my body had been my every dream come true, or so I had thought. Making love to Superman had been exhilarating. Hovering above the bed, held by his strong arms, knowing that I was the one who got to kiss every inch of his body… This was such a great turn on that I just forgot about the few men before him.
For weeks I’d walked on cloud nine, and I’d actually been so naïve to think that the dream would never end.
What?!?
My smile falters a little, but I quickly try to put it back into place. Most likely it’s not all that convincing. “Sure. You’re pretty busy right now, I guess. Working on your next novel or something. Just give me a call when you’ve got some spare time, will you? It’s still the same number.” I turn on my heels, then look back over my shoulder. “Goodbye, Clark. It was nice seeing you again.” I wave at him as I leave the book shop, almost running.
Yikes!
OK, Lois may be trying to walk away from Clark now, but like any good investigative reporter, she's going to track this story down!
Bakasi, you have my complete and undivided attention...
