The exercise:
Write about: the man (or woman) I used to be.
Inspired by something someone read at my local writing group this evening. I started to jot down the beginnings of mine while I was there, but we didn't manage to get any writing done so I decided to just get it out here.
This morning Kat and I did some work in the greenhouse (so many plants to pot up...) and then this afternoon I was back at the deck building with Kat's dad. I can almost picture how it'll look at this point, which just makes me want to work on it more.
Darn farm responsibilities getting in the way of my fun.
Mine:
Craig sits at a corner booth on the third floor of the downtown library, staring out the window as the city begins its transformation from day to night. Shops close, bars open, streetlights grudgingly come to life. The sidewalk soldiers exchange their business uniforms for casual disguises.
He used to belong down there, among the eager masses. Hunting for the next promotion, the next hot date, whatever was just around the corner. Never satisfied with enough, unable to even define such a passive word. Striving, striving, striving.
There is no nostalgia lurking in these thoughts. He does not miss those hectic days, nor would he change a single one of them should some magical being make that offer. No, they were the building blocks that piled inexorably atop each other, constructing the man he had become. Take even one of those away and who might he be instead?
With a shake of his head, Craig returns his gaze and attention to the newspaper before him. The crossword puzzle is nearly finished, likely as complete as he'll be able to make it. A stubby pencil rests beside it, waiting for him to admit this.
A check of his gold wristwatch, a quiet sigh, then he picks up the pencil and begins to erase his answers one by one. Once he finishes he gathers his things and makes his way to the elevator, riding down to street level. He escapes through the front doors just before closing and makes his way to his apartment, jostled by the crowd.
