Tales of The Author: The Typewriter

As the Author sat at the kitchen table and typed on her grandmother's typewriter, she felt inspired. The plate and mug from her breakfast was still on the table, but the smell of the omelette had long left the air. 

The Author had never written on a typewriter before, the motion of pressing the small buttons was new to her fingers. Her writing was covered in typos and letters written on top of other letters to correct the mistakes. 

The day before the Author had looked through the attic to find the typewriter. She found it behind some boxes full of old books and long-forgotten holiday decorations. Writing on the typewriter has the Author dreaming of older and newer times. In a perfect situation, she'd be sitting in a cafe somewhere in town to write, but the machine is so loud that it would bother everyone around her. 

For the past few weeks, words have flown around in her brain without forming sentences. Nothing has been coherent enough to put on a page. But now, sitting at her grandmother's typewriter, her writer's block fades away. Word after word appearing on the page and the Author can't help but want to continue writing on this typewriter night and day. She's taking more care now, pressing the buttons slower not to make so many mistakes. 

As the Author writes on this old typewriter, her mind wanders. It travels to the world she's writing. And as through magic, snow starts falling outside the window. The large feathery snowflakes, together with the candles on the table, create an atmosphere that the Author cannot seem to describe. It just feels like a dream. And the Author sure likes dreaming.

Tales of The Author: Monday Mornings

The Author had always felt like Monday mornings were an unclear time of day. She'd sit in her car and watch everything pass by the windows during that hour every week, the one that felt both short and infinite.

Her perfume was finding its way through the air, unbothered by the warm air streaming from the ventilation. The hum of the engine, the windshield wipers, the light fog and the morning dark all played their part in the feeling of calm spreading through her body.

The Author kept both her hands on the steering wheel, paying attention to the road while the Friend was sleeping in the passenger seat. They'd spent the weekend with the Friend's sister, celebrating her birthday.

The party was fun, but all the socialising with people she doesn't know had the Author feeling tired. The two of them had gotten up at an ungodly hour to drive back in time for work. The smart move would have been to head home the day before, but none of them thought about that until it was way too late to drive.

The Author was driving away from the sunrise, and she watched with slight awe as the fog lifted and beams of sunlight slowly hit the trees in a soft, orange glow.

She hadn't noticed the Friend was awake until she saw his hand reach out and turn on the radio. Both of them jumped in their seats at the high volume, which the Author quickly turned down.

"What a way to wake up..." the Friend muttered before the both of them laughed. They settled into a comfortable silence between them, listening to whatever was going on on the radio. Though both of them were heading to work, it was a beautiful and calm moment, driving through the serene landscapes of a tired Monday morning.