A Place to Inspire Her

  • The idea of writing a book always stayed at the back of her mind, but “who would be interested in reading it?” she thought. Even her mum was finding hard to keep up with that busy and congested world of thoughts inside her head. She would visit the library, she would go to the park, she would sit in cozy coffee shops with no result. Where on earth was this inspirational place? “Perhaps was not on earth,” suddenly dawned on her. So she looked at the sky and said: “I’ll only start writing if I receive a sign.” The only possible sign was to find somewhere a white desk in front of a window.

    After a few weeks her mother asked the girl to go and find an antique vase in the loft. That old room had been locked in years: no one in the family had ever dared to enter it after a fortune teller had told them that the room was haunted. The girl was not afraid of ghosts, she was more afraid of spiders that were hanging from the dusty corners of the wooden ceiling; she half expected them to show their big teeth every time she would look at them even though she wasn’t sure whether spiders had got teeth.

    It was also a cold place to be: the fresh breeze of March would blow through the drought hidden behind the curtains eaten by moths. All those books, broken furniture and carton boxes scattered all over the floor spoke to her about abandonment and long forgotten times. She pulled the curtain on one side and let the weak patch of sun coming through the opaque glass and, in her great surprise, there it was: a large white desk positioned in front of the adjacent window made wobbly by the heavy chairs placed on top of it.

    How long was this desk kept here? How much time she had lost to look for the perfect place to inspire her.She grabbed an old notebook, a pen and started writing. Yes perhaps the room was cold and dusty, perhaps spirits would gather there at night, “Well be it!” She exclaimed out loud. She would listen to their stories and write tales of far lands and ancient castles where kings and knights once lived. No more time to waste. This was now her own secret place, the kind of place where only writers and their imagination go to.

     

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