Somewhere in time

I would like to be in the shoes of the likes of the American naturalist and philosopher Henry David Thoreau, who spent exactly two years, two months, and two days in a remote cabin he built near Walden Pond, a lake in Concord, Massachusetts, where his friend and mentor Ralph Waldo Emerson owned a woodland. Thoreau used this time to write his first book, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers.

Victor Hugo, the French writer of the "Hunchback of Notre Dame", locked himself away in his house and locked his clothes away to avoid the curious temptation to go outside. I imagine he stayed naked for much of the time, and he must have possessed a great deal of willpower.

I would very much have wanted to walk outside as much as possible though, there is nothing like a hike through the woods or up a steep mountain path to get the creative juices flowing. But, to each his own, I guess.

The reclusive writer has forever been a favorite pastime of mine. The hunger for the quiet life that has always drawn me towards forests, woodlands and exotic stories of those who prefer to inhabit such places.

I would hope to own my own tract of forest land, build my little cabin, two bedrooms, one to host a fellow writer if one ever had the urge to come calling. No one else could disturb my sojourn into aloneness. I would prefer to have electricity and modern conveniences, being not so fond of tumbling and fumbling around outside at midnight in search of a privy. Bears and wild animals are bound to be wandering around at that time of night.

I would have a telephone, just so my agent could call me and update me on the time of day, day of the week, among other things, eccentricity does not heed time or take note of days of the week.

This cabin would be built by a beautiful blue shimmering lake, a small boat would be tied by the tiny jetty, jutting out onto the quiet welcoming waters of the lake. I would so enjoy boating upon the calming waters, while dreaming up daring adventures for my readers delight and joy.

The local grocer would deliver my groceries as I would have no desire to trudge every week to the grocery store and make small chit chat with the people. I prefer enjoying their company from a great distance. I make no apologies for being the recluse that I am. We are all born for different purposes, I am fulfilling mine.

I begin my morning with a swift walk by the trees lining the side of the lake, or I would make my way up the steep side of the hills in back of the cabin. Great inspiration can be gleaned from the naturalness of the great outdoors.

The little animals scurry away into the underbrush as I pass by, the trees wave happily in the breeze and the birds sing songs to the dawning of a new day. The universe offers tantalizing new adventures within the soul. My mind is now clear, and the words are ready to tumble free from fingers to pen and paper. The sun kisses my face as I return to my scribblings.

Then I can now continue writing my second book. My first book had been a huge success. Sold two million copies in one year, with sales continuing to peak all over the world. People wanted to meet me, sign autographs. This was where I drew the line. I write books, I am not a movie star, a singer, famous rapper or sports personality. I needed to get away, "far from the maddening crowd".

My reclusive personae somehow amuses folks, seemed to have sent the book sales skyrocketing. People seem to thrive on mystery. I am somehow greatly perplexed by the absurdity and beauty of the human spirit.

And so I begin to write my second book, secluded within my little patch of wilderness, I need not worry about money, or time or family. There is no one who depends on me on a daily basis. My birth family members are well taken care of. ~~~~~

The unexpected Visitor

Chapter one:

In a cabin deep in the Massachusetts woods, a lone writer sits at his desk. His back is slightly arched as his concentration is completely focused on the beginning of his new novel.

So wrapped up in his task is he, that he fails to hear the front door of the cabin being opened, stealthy footsteps tiptoe inside, and quietly close the door.

The Beginning!

................................................................................................