The Writer's Secret

This afternoon started out as a normal afternoon.

I wasn't feeling very well, so I curled up on the sofa under a fuzzy blanket, and planned to while away the afternoon by watching Return of the Jedi and wrapping my headphone cords with colorful embroidery floss. I had no computer on except for my tablet, which was playing soft music, and I wasn't thinking about much besides keeping my floss untangled.

Little did I know what adventure awaited me.

They came out of nowhere. Two dashing young inventors wearing shirtsleeves and waistcoats and, of course, goggles - one with his pushed recklessly up into his curly ginger hair, the other with his wrapped neatly across his gray tweed roadster hat. They approached me politely and the one with the hat pulled it off. "Hello, love," said the younger of the two, the ginger one, taking my hand and kissing it gallantly. "I say, we're in a bit of a fix."

"That's right," the older dark-haired one stepped in, fiddling shyly with his pocket watch. "You see - our entire world is under attack by a brutal madman, and it's up to us to stop him."

"But we need a story," the younger one explained. He got down on one knee next to the couch and let his blue-green eyes twinkle over a winsome crinkled smile. "We need someone to create us a world and the equipment that we'll use to fight this man and stop him. You're the one who can write this story for us."

"Me!" I dropped my headphone cords and stared at them in shock. "I've never written a story like that before! I don't think you've got the right person!"

"Yes, we do." The older one sat down next to me on the sofa and took my hands, his whole face alight with eagerness and confidence. "We know you can do it - we've looked everywhere for the one who will write this story in the very best way, and we knew you were the girl for the job. Love, we'll be right here to help you. We know how it's supposed to go. Just give us life and take us where we need to go, and we'll do the rest."

"You can help us stop this madman!" The younger one pulled a folded paper out of his pocket and spread it out on my lap. It was a hastily sketched blueprint that sent chills down my spine. "There, I saw you shiver. Is this what you want to happen to us?"

I looked half-fearfully at his sober face. "Would it really happen?"

"It certainly would."

I looked back down at the blueprint and felt the weight of responsibility fall into my shoulders. They were right - I needed to write this story for them. This was a story that needed to be told, and these young men needed my help and my words to create their world. Who would do it, if not me? When they had come to me specifically and asked me for help?

I folded up the paper and held it in both hands as I looked up into their shining, grease-smudged faces. "I'll do it."

Each of them took one of my hands in both of theirs and pressed it joyfully, and their eyes shone with tears of gladness. "Thank you," the older one whispered. The younger one pressed his lips to my hand, and I felt two tears fall onto my wrist.

"We'll stay nearby and help you with this until you write it." It sounded so innocent. But I've been a writer for many years - I knew that what he really meant meant was that their faces were now imprinted in my writer's brain, and that they would stay there, haunting me, until I put their story down on paper. I knew that when I said "I will," I was giving a part of my life into their hands, agreeing to watch them write their own story while my fingers flew as fast as they could across the keyboard, trying to keep up. All they were really asking was to live for a little while through my heart and my hands.

This is the writer's secret. As I watched them take their leave and stride out the door, I turned to the Internet to start doing my research, because I knew they would soon be back. A new story had come, and I was chosen to write it.

And I couldn't be happier.