Alone in the Writing Turret
- Stephanie Queen
- Jul 7, 2013
- 1 min read
So there I was, yawning in my turret when my typing fingers ran out of running room. Even a standing stretch had no effect. This called for drastic measures–no, not the gym, I can’t’ recall the last time I was that drastic, or perhaps it’s my memory failing. Wasting no (more than usual) time, I banged the gong and instructed Myren my Chauffeur to bring around the car–we traded in the limo for a new-fangled smart car–all electric–only good for short escapes and only good for drives that don’t pass by the orbit of any malls, outlet stores or back allies where there’s an oldsmobile trunk open and a man selling hot toasters. The luggage capacity of this so-called smart car is only the size of a 1/2 karat diamond. So I suppose we could stop at a jewelers…. but I digress.
And that’s exactly why I gonged for Myren. I needed a digression (otherwise known as a diversion). A change of scenery. What the heck–I needed people around me. I worried my ear drums would turn rusty with all the turret-induced silence surrounding me all day.
So I hopped into the oversized electric shaver on wheels and we buzzed to a non-shopping related hive of activity buzzing with people talking into the space of the real world and making an impressive amount of noise. The rush of excitement slapped me in the face and Myren said, “You look pink. You want a cold drink?”
No, we weren’t at a bar. But maybe next time. We were at the local hangout, a coffee shop called Beantowne. Not it’s not in Boston. Maybe next time. I cleared a path as I strode through the shop aimed toward the comfy yet regal sofa in the corner. It was occupied, so we had to share and I pasted on my gracious smile–the one without the bared teeth–no need to scare away the natives since they were the ones creating the buzz of excitement–the very origin of the stimulating atmosphere.
To add to my stimulation, I ordered a super espresso mocha caramel extra shot latte grande–or something big and peppy to drink.
Then I ripped out my MacBook and let my fingers run. Back in business. The buzzing of the coffee shop faded to white noise and the people faded from sight.
The writer could be anywhere and surrounded by anyone, but she’d still be alone in the writing turret.
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