Inner Monologues & Lemon Juice

Shaking off a glazed daze, I focused in on the name on the page. It was the only words I'd written so far and it wasn't even my real name. I chuckled and reminded myself, 'The name's not important. I write under a pseudonym most of the time anyways. It's the words on the page that are truly enchanting. 'The only words on the page's mockingly mimicked the voice in my head. 'The only words on the page.....And my deadline is less than 24 hrs away.' | sunk. Writers block had been an issue lately, and not having anything to show to my editor at our meeting tomorrow was NOT going to go over well. I tried to take a deep breath and focus, but a refrain of 'The only words... The only words' was now thoroughly stuck on loop in my head. 'What on earth am I gonna do?' I could nearly hear my editors disappointed voice, like ghost whispers on the wind, in my ears. I hung my head. Perhaps out of exhaustion or frustration or both.

'Perhaps I better sleep on it.'

I placed the little black book on my bed side table, clicked off the lamp and prayed that my dread of tomorrow wouldn't keep me awake.

- - - - - - - - -

I awoke the next morning with a start. I had meant to just get a little sleep, hopefully with an interesting dream to assist my dilemma, then get back to work. I now had far less time than I had hoped for and my head was still as empty of inspiration as my sleep had been of dreams. Blank for words save for 'The Only Words....I sighed. 'Still on loop I see.' Chancing a glance at my nightstand, I nearly groaned out loud. The sight of the nearly pristine notebook seemingly taunted me from it's perch there. The closer it got to my deadline, the less motivated I felt. Perhaps after a bite I'd feel more enthused. It was wishful thinking, but with an actual groan, I used it to push myself forward.

- - - - - - - - -

Returning, drink in hand, I faced the tiny demon by my bedside eyeing it like one might a daunting adversary. I took a long slow slurp and sighed. I've procrastinated as long as I possibly can. I tried to muster something even mildly akin to ambition as exchanged the smooth surface of my cup for the rich dry one of paper. I could almost smell that new paper/bookstore smell coming off of it, and in that moment, couldn't help but smile. 'Okie dokie...... Deep breath. 'I can do this...... I haven't even come up with a name or premise yet... Before I could spin into worry and despair again I flipped to the title page where I had written my name the night before. Confusion washed over me as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. 'How tired and stressed was I last night?' I mused. I was sure all i had managed last night before bed was my name. 'Well..... My not name.' Right? Yet clear as day before my eyes, in the most perfect of my own handwriting, the title read: The Only Words You Need... Are These. My mind rang, 'The Only Words... The Only Words'.

In a befuddled mixture of excitement, terror and shock, I nearly dropped the book as began to rifle hurriedly through it's pages. I'm not sure what I expected to find. They were, as expected, empty. Staring at the title that had appeared out of nowhere, my brain struggled to put it all together. I checked the other pages again....."Just to be sure". 'Whaaa....My thought was cut short. Before my eyes, faint smudges were appearing. I flipped rapidly, checking the extent of this phenomena. It was every page! 'Had I been sold a defective book?' As I stared in disbelief, the smudges danced across the page getting slightly more visible and began to form shapes. No. Letters! My jaw went slack as every word of a story came just barely into focus before me. I was in awe!

As I snapped to for what was now an uncomfortable amount of times within such a short stretch of time, my eyes began to skim the page in front of me. Amazing! The words seemed to shimmer on the page, almost as it still wet. They look like when I used to write "secret messages" with lemon juice as a kid. Remembering this childhood memory, I raced to find ANYTHING to write with. I had no idea what this was, but I wasn't about to risk the possibility of it "disappearing". After all, I had even LESS clue how to bring it back if it did disappear than how it appeared in the first place!

- - - - - - - - -

I walked into my editors office with a smirk and a surprising amount of swag. I was exhausted, my eyes were burning and I probably had carpal tunnel syndrome after the marathon I had just put myself through, but I had done it. I handed my manager the little black book that had vexed me so with all the love and care one might endear to a newborn baby. The unkempt man carelessly thumbed open the book, too weary to be bothered by such trivialities as sentiment. Work was work and his eyes scanned fervently, simply wanting to check off his check list and shoo me from his office. As he eventually began to piece together and absorb what lay within his hands, a smile gradually lightened his profile as his eyes slowed to reading pace. I cleared my throat gently.

"Huh? Oh! Right!" Without even looking up, he freed one hand and rummaged in his desk drawer before thrusting his arm at me.

"Thank you!" I replied as I took my check and turned to leave.

"Mmm hmm." My editor managed as he waved to signal my dismissal. Unperturbed, all I desired now was my bed.

- - - - - - - - -

By some miracle, I managed to drag myself home. 'Thank gods the one-line chorus has stopped!' I thought as I walked in the door. The check! Suddenly remembering something beyond sleep, I pulled the check out as if to verify it's existence. $20,000. "What should I do with you?" I pondered aloud. As if in response, I smirked. 'Perhaps I should sleep on it.'

Opening the drawer of my bedside table, I exchanged the slip of paper for a little black book. I placed the notebook on the table and rushed to get ready for bed. With eyelids that felt like anvils, I scrawled my name once more on the title page, turned out the lamp and welcomed sleep.

Dear Reader: You may be hesitant to believe the tale I just wove, but I can assure you each word rings with truth. Your truth. My truth. The truth. Fore this was the story of each of us. From the often maddening search for our voice to the breathtakingly magick journey writing takes both author and reader on. "It's the words that are truly enchanting." Still skeptical? I welcome you to re-read the story and urge you to remember: Find your 'little black book', never doubt the power of your inner monologues to conjure miraculous things and always follow the lemon juice.