Weekly Writing Challenge: The Sound of Silence #writing

There are multiple ways of interacting with silence: purposefully leaving something unsaid, breaking the silence around a topic, or, quite simply, getting tongue-tied. For this week’s challenge, we want you to take the theme of silence and explore it in your own way.

Andreas EmbirikosThe studio is empty, but then it is not: you are everywhere, in the books on the shelves, the records on the low table, near the sofa. You are on the keys of this keyboard, in the scent of you in the bathroom, in our bed, on my clothes. On my lips.

You are not far, you are here. Standing on the balcony, breathing in the icy air of Kreuzberg, there is no sound: snow covers the pavement, the streets. The city is silent, the pregnant pre-dawn silence, before the birds recognise the new day.

I come in, shut the door. I sense the little wave which travels from there, the corner of the desk where our secret lies, murmuring sweet and terrible truths: loving a ghost has its price, and being loved by her – by you – a higher price still.

How I love this city. How I love our silent place, full of you, full of us, overflowing with pleasures that have no names. And memories. I take your wooden face in my hands, its surface feels warm, like a skin. Those deep eyes seize me, as if to confirm your presence, but I know. I know it is your way of reassuring me, of telling me that I have already payed the price, of your love.

This is the start of a new day. Surrounded by you, I take the steps for what must follow: getting showered, getting dressed, making coffee, starting work. All the time, your eyes follow me, and so comes the inspiration: how not to tell the story, of a writer in love with his muse?

Daily Prompt: Share the Love

Tell us about another blogger who has influenced your own online journey.

For Jo-Anne, my Muse.

 She is the welcoming Muse of my first steps in this strange world… her advice prevented me to fall, perhaps to become a sad fatality along the way.  I owe her my sanity, I admire her work.  She hails from Vancouver, which I understand to be cold, and beautiful.  She’s Jo-Anne, tweeting as @jtvancouver, and she’s member of a group of very talented writers (@TheGuildInk).

Her writing is magic, her characters come alive in a few words, whether a poor lost soul in a church, a tramp on a bench, or a young man seeking solace. But Jo-Anne keeps her novel in progress under wrap, so you and I will have to wait… In the meantime visit her corner of paradise, and have a cup of hot coffee to her health…

#FiveSentenceFiction: Inspire

InspireTo the outside world he is the image of success itself: a universally celebrated author, his books bestsellers many times over, a happy man who has everything…

To his true friends, those who have known him for many years, he’s the mysterious adult who emerged from that troubled childhood he shared with them.

To his jealous competitors he’s that lucky fellow with the irresistible sense of humour, a feared duellist.

To her, his true love, who has shared his life through misery and triumph, he’s the small boy who cannot grow up…

To himself, who knows the truth, he’s the one who owes her everything: she’s made him who he is, from the ground up.

#FiveSentenceFiction: Tears

 He looked at her, she smiled, and he knew she knew. Slowly he came closer, opened the pad and started reading, in a low voice, in his smooth, disarming accent, the one he used when he really wanted to seduce, to sell, to be adopted: the last paragraph of his novel.

She was listening, still looking at his face as he read, an infinite tenderness on her lips and eyes, his muse, his wife, his soulmate, his partner. He paused, and she asked: “so you have finished?” “Yes”, he answered, a few tears running down his face, “it’s done, and I love you more since it is our story”. She loved his tears.