He wrote by the light of candles. He said it was because he had to pay close attention to ensure his words made it to the paper rather than on the day's unread news. The candlelight chose a specific spot on his work, which was up to him to ensure it remained throughout the pages.
He wrote in silence, as the darkness of night was his favorite time to compose what he hoped would be worthy of his readers. The night was darkness, welcomed as most things slept, assuring him of the quiet he needed to grab hold of memories and other events he felt like sharing with perfect strangers.
Sometimes, he sat in that darkness for long periods when words stayed hidden, and his heart grew cold. No matter what he thought about, it wasn't worthy of telling, as wads of paper littered the floor and grew.
He tried to go back in time to where he felt most comfortable, and the thoughts came easier even though he had no idea where they came from.
Sometimes, that worked as if a switch was turned on, and words once again flowed.
Sometimes, as the sun began to rise, he knew what he had to do, so he snuffed out the candles and welcomed the light of day, the sounds of birds and lawnmowers, children at play, and life being lived. For now, he would enjoy the day, but in his mind, he longed for fresh candles and darkness to unleash a story.
Mike 2024
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