Lucas Klaukien sat down to write a story about a character named Lucas Klaukien.
He got up, went around, and in between fidgets and hesitations he put pencil to paper, then fingers to keyboard and moved his character around the chess board of a make-believe life, set in a make-believe world.
He motivated his character to go left, or right, pick an apple and fly a kite. He had his character play guitar against a tree on a hill in overalls and a straw hat. His character waxed philosophical under the moonlight, and soliloquized like a cat in heat, "... my breast doth twitter and torment 'neath the pale gaze of the shadow's moon ..." never knowing or understanding what the words meant or how they came to be. He did all this in a single day, knowing all days would be as grand, and he never feared the boredom of the ordinary. He would fight dragons one day, romance the maiden the next. Something, some motivating force gave him the power. Nothing was too much of a challenge.
So, never arguing with the force that compelled him to do such things, he decided to get a hobby. He would write.
He smiled inwardly as he sat down on a log in a dewey meadow and began to tap his lower lip with his pencil, looking skyward, waiting, waiting for some force to put words in his head. It didn't take long. He laughed aloud at his cleverness, he would write a story about a character named Lucas Klaukien.
ONE MORE SMOKE FOR THE ROAD
9 years ago