Not so long ago, in a world not so far away, there was a cottage. The cottage was in a meadow, deep in the forest, where the grass was always green and the birds would sing all day in happiness. The cottage was the home of a famous author, and he would come by whenever he needed to get away from life in the fast lane. He’d sit at his desk near the window and then, listening to the songs of nature, continue to write his thoughts.
Unknown to him, there was someone else in his cottage. When he would be asleep, she’d come to his desk, silent like a calm morning breeze and read his wonderful words. She found it fascinating that he could write such wonderful stories in total concentration, while humming a tune and admiring the vast beauty of the green forest that lay before him. From afar, she’d watch him dip his quill in the ink-pot and write on his parchment. She had never seen anyone so calm.
Once, he wasn’t able to write anything for an entire afternoon. She watched him crumple parchment after parchment in frustration as he tried in vain to get his words out. Then as the sun set and dusk blanketed him in tangerine beauty, his story without success, he put his quill in the pot and shaking his head, went to bed. She had never seen him like that, so agitated. When she heard him snore, she went to the desk and read what he had last written.
To her surprise, there was beauty in it. Having read his stories, she knew it had to be the ending that was bothering him. She read the story again, and in an instant, she got an ending to that story. Taking the quill gingerly, she wrote. Then, before he could wake up and catch her, she hurried off. When he awoke, he saw a completed story. There they were; those very words that he had wanted to put. But who had written them? He had to know.
The next day, he wrote another chapter in his book, and leaving the end incomplete, he went to sleep. He closed his eyes and listened carefully for the footsteps of his mysterious muse. When he heard her soft steps, he opened his eyelids a little, to see who she was. But he saw no one there. Scared of making her go away, he didn’t move. As expected, the next morning, his chapter was complete. Just the way he wanted it to be.
He did it every night, trying to find his mysterious muse. But he never saw her. Then his book was complete. He brought the first copy to the cottage and left it open for her to read. She came silently and read the first words, “To my mysterious muse Minnie, who came at night and helped me to complete the book in time.” And then in his handwriting, “Please don’t run away. I want to meet you tonight at least.”
When she turned, he was there, watching her from his bedroom door. He smiled, took her hand and shook it. She smiled too, and from then on, he left his city house to stay with her at the cottage. Together they wrote many books, and each of them became bestsellers. No one ever met Minnie, but she was always his muse, inspiring him to write when the world tried to make him stop.
Not so long from now, in that world not so far away, they’ll still be living happily ever after… unseen to each other.
Hey Creativity, I hope you liked the story. I know it’s your 300th post and due to some things I couldn’t control, I’ve delayed by a long time. Hope many more milestones come in your blogging journey and I’m there to read all of them!
Today is also your birthday, so a very joyous and fun filled day may you have.
Happy Birthday and Happy 300th Post to you!