It's only 11:36am and it's already been a lovely day. I got up at 6:30 to meet sis at the gym at 7, worked out for an hour, home, showered, and now have been at Panera for two hours completing an hour of dedicated writing. I was worried for a moment there. I was a bit groggy and sleepy from such an early rise and unable to think of anything new or interesting to write down but I just made myself start typing. And you know what, I'm pretty pleased with what I came up with. Even if it isn't particularly "good", the practice of writing and disciplining myself to write every day is a good thing. So, now, with an hour or so until my appt for hair color and cut, I think I will reward myself with a little nap. Hope you all enjoy this beautiful sunny and warm day. I know I will. I've been thinking of posting portions of a story in a sort-of periodical style here...haven't decided yet if I'd like to do that. It would definitely keep me accountable to writing consistently but I am afraid I won't like the story or I won't know how to keep it going? So here's a little sample of what I came up with today and we'll just see if I keep it up. No promises.
She made the effort to close the door quietly as she left her house that morning. At around 7:20 she was sure her mother and sister would still be sleeping and didn’t want them to wake up just yet. She walked around behind the white house with chipping paint and climbing flowers towards the small shed where her bike waited for her. It was an older Schwinn without any speed settings or fancy brakes, just a mode of transportation and economy since she had not yet been able to save enough for a car.
Kate turned seventeen that summer of 1996 and lived in a small fishing town in Maine. She had been homeschooled since she was eight and developed incredibly close relationships with her mother and sister Sophie. Having graduated early after choosing to not take much of the summers off, Kate had begun working for a local bookstore when she was fourteen. Now that she was waiting to hear back from colleges, she was working as many days and hours that she could get saving up for the adult life she was so ready to lead.
The sound of the pine needles and twigs cracked and parted beneath her bike tires. The dew was still heavy on the leaves and grass and kicked up slightly behind her as her bike made its way to the cliffs. She loved this part of the morning when the birds started waking up and calling out to each other across the tunnel of trees as she passed through. She was thankful she had remembered to grab her sweater on the way out, the cool night air was still lingering as the sun was just barely making its first streaks through the tree line. Her white Keds pedaled on and she looked forward to the coffee and scones that would surely be waiting for her at work.
The smell of lilies and roses greeted her as she turned the corner onto the path that led to the Tattered Edge. The store was located on the lower floor of an old Victorian house built a century ago and remained in the same family since its construction. Agnes was the last surviving member of the Sterling family having lost her son a decade ago in a car accident. Kate wasn’t sure how much she still mourned his loss; she never mentioned it and was afraid to bring it up in case it caused too much pain. Not to mention he had died without marrying or having any children. Kate wasn’t working for Agnes then but she remembers the rumors that circled the town about the fate of the house when the elderly woman also passed away. It was a historical landmark and its location on the cliffs was envied from the locals and hoteliers alike. Many thought it was a waste she had converted the bottom floor into a bookstore when a Borders had been built downtown a few years earlier. Agnes seemingly did not regret her choice after retiring from teaching a few years ago. Money wasn’t an issue and never had been. Her father had been one of the wealthiest factory owners in the state. His only regret in life was that he was unable to produce a son. Not without lack of trying, both within his marriage and without, his only offspring was Agnes.
Kate opened the door of the large home as carefully as she had closed her own. The key that hung from a ribbon was bronze and heavy in her hand, much unlike the small metal ones still clipped to the back of her bag. Agnes had begun sleeping later and later but never forgot to set her coffee pot to be ready by the time Kate had arrived. She could smell its strong aroma as she walked through the door and Percy, the calico cat that haunted the shelves and stairs of the house circled her feet.
“Ya, I know. You want your milk” she said to the cat as she walked to the kitchen.
She opened the refrigerator and saw a note on the glass jar of cream. It was written in the flowery hand of Agnes and said “Please place the tray of scones in the oven for 40 minutes while you open. Do not let Percy in the front room, he has been torturing Wallace. –Agnes” Kate smiled as she took the note off of the jar and poured a saucer for Percy and set it on the chilly tile floor.