Fuelling The Future

The email came in and I hit the ‘Order Now’ button immediately. There was no way I was missing out on a limited run just because my therapist told me buying stuff wouldn’t fill the hole inside. It had to be mine.

The very next day, I set off on a trip away, by pure coincidence to a retreat run by the manufacturer. The confirmation email said they wouldn’t be sent out until the following week, but could I potentially get a sneak preview?

I gushed on arrival about how excited I was and she smiled and nodded, her eyes a little wary in the face of my over-enthusiasm. On the third day of the retreat, she interrupted my work to say she was expecting a delivery and could I listen out for the door while she was in the shower. It seemed like an odd request, but I agreed readily enough.

A few minutes later, I heard one of the other attendees talking to someone at the front door, saying she would need to go and get our host to sign for the boxes. I dashed out to intercept her, and signed myself, flushed with pride at my delegated authority. There were three giant boxes and I lugged them one by one into the building.

Could they contain what I was waiting for? My curiosity wasn’t desperate enough to breach the sanctity of another woman’s post. It was desperate enough to delve a couple of hours later when I was wandering innocently past (through the storage area next to the kitchen that had no other exits) and found the top box open.

And, yes! The hotly anticipated items were right there before my eyes, neatly stacked in all their glory. But they were vacuum-sealed in batches of five, and only one of them was rightly mind. I itched to rip the plastic and retrieve my prize, but societal rules of acceptable behaviour just barely stopped me. I slunk away to my corner and tried to focus on my work.

Hours later, when I was practically vibrating with need (awaiting both my item and my dinner), our host interrupted me again. She walked into the room in a stately manner, an object resting reverently on her outstretched palms. She grinned at me and presented it to me, beautifully wrapped in tissue paper of the brightest orange.

I managed not to snatch it from her hands and smiled my thanks, feeling the rigid edges beneath the rustling wrapper. I should wait, savour the anticipation, finish what I was doing and leave the grand opening until later. But of course I didn’t. I ripped the tissue paper away and revealed the stiff, black cover of the book, the numbers in the corner deeply satisfying in their rounded repetition. A quick flick through and all my dreams were answered.

Space to develop goals, list projects, track submissions, schedule sessions. Prompts to reflect and revise, to record achievements and plan ahead. My beautiful 2020 writer’s diary. All I need to fuel my writing future.