Laying Traps for Troubadors

Feeling fictional (and inspired by my lovely scottishmomus) this evening… something a little different…

“So what is this, exactly, that you’re doing here? Some sort of Anne-Rice-ish Interview kind of thing?” As I sat at my usual table in the café, she sneaked up behind me. Disconcerted that she’d been able to do so, I turned, and noticed that her ubiquitous menthol cigarette was absent.

“He isn’t a vampire, Marie-Luce. Let’s not slip irrevocably into fantasy. And it’s hardly an ‘interview’, anyway. There would have to be dialogue and the answering of questions for that to be the case.”

“Does he know about it?”

“He doesn’t not know.”

She laughed. “That is the most Cole-like answer I’ve heard in a long, long, long life of listening to answers from Cole.”

“He knows me. He knows what I do. It has to have struck him that I haven’t written anything in more years than I can count. And I hardly need permission. They’re my experiences too.”

“Well that wasn’t at all defensive.” Marie-Luce laughed again. Despite the fact that I was, in fact, feeling somewhat defensive, I had to smile. There aren’t many things I love in this world of ours more than Emel’s laugh.

“How’s about my story? You going to tell that one too? Do I get to be a character in this whatever-it-is that you’re writing?” She was playing me a little. The question was meant, certainly, to elicit answers I wasn’t ready to give, but there was something a wee bit yearning in her tone, as well. She has always had a streak of vanity, well-hidden and oft-denied though it may be.

“You know what I do, too, Emel. You might not like my observances any better than he will. I’m trying to be honest, here. Tell a story that needs telling. Warts and all.”

“Surely you remember what happened the last time you did that? How one piece of writing altered everything. Are you willing to risk that level of change again?” Her slight pause was both reflective and exposed something of her own on-going struggle to make sense of all this.

“Not that I’m trying to stop you. Never think that. But have you really taken on board just what you might be doing here? You know I love you, Coley. Surely you’ve had enough of transformation and revelation to last at least a lifetime or two?” She smiled, knowingly, but with that minor-chord note of sympathy that featured in most of our exchanges.

Distracted by her smile (one of the other things I love most in this world of ours) I hesitated, thinking about her words for a minute. She was right. No doubt about that.

The last time my desire for change – and the searching for answers that is, really, the keystone of my personality – led me to pick up a pen, the consequences were as irrevocable as they were shattering.

No argument, here.


If something needs saying? If change needs a kick-in-the-pants to get the stones rolling?

I’m your guy. And, whether you know it or not, I’ve always been your guy.

6 comments on “Laying Traps for Troubadors

  1. Ooh, I’m excited! This sounds, reading between the lines, like Cole’s on a roll! Do it! Do it! 🙂

  2. bethbyrnes says:

    I think this is over my head but I somehow get it anyway and love it. More, please.

  3. Ste J says:

    Have a wonderful Christmas my friend.

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