...occasionally, while enjoying a timeless classic, written by a storyteller capable of breathing life into a plot deemed hopeless by others, I stumble across a phrase that promotes a snicker in between paragraphs. A line or two meant purely for us, his or her peers, the writing populace, roaming about, heads down, carrying on our days on the wings of hope.
While finishing up "Boy's Life," by Robert McCammon, I read the following on page 527...
...the Lady regarded me with her shining emerald eyes. "You still gonna be a writer?" she asked me.
"I don't know," I said.
"Seems to me a writer gets to hold a lot of keys," she said. "Gets to visit a lot of worlds and live in a lot of skins. Seems to me a writer has a chance to live forever, if he's good and if he's lucky. Would you like that, Cory? Would you like to live forever?"
I thought about it. Forever, like Heaven, was an awfully long time. "No ma'am," I decided. "I think I might get tired."
"Well," she said, and she placed a hand on my shoulder, "it seems to me a writer's voice is a forever thing. Even if a boy and a man are not..."
Subliminal messages. Sent by those who can. Understood by those of us who continue to listen, and continue onward...
So tell me, who's holding the keys this evening? Who's got a story to share?
Thanks for reading ;)