“Don’t lose those notes,” she told her brother. It sounded like lozse. “What did you say?” The bro could not hear her properly, so he thought. “Don’t lozse the notes!” Oh, he said. “Don’gt lozse the notes, you say. But I have! What am I going to do?” Don’t be sorry if you can’t find them, she comforted. Regret peeled back over his face and sunk heavily on his lip. He regained his composure. Don’t worry, he thought. It does not matter. I wish I had those notes though. Wishing would not bring them back. But, then again, all he needed was one Great Idea.
Satellite images of lost notes, but no one has identified them. Notes of enormous potential, suspected to be blockbuster material of great literary merit. But lost, forever. The search goes in in his bedroom for them, but searching for that One great idea, really. Will it be found?
I did a lot back in the day, said the older writer. I am doing less now. Slowing down. Had my day in the sun. But keep on keeping on as I must. Got to, inside myself.
Are avenues for writers scarce, these days? I’d like to think I would keep on trying them.
I have given up and gone back to writing many times, even when I am writing. The spirit is always willing, and one usually pulls through.