I read an article a while back about how many of Mraz's most popular songs were composed as part of a game he played with his fellow musician friends. One of his friends would set a challenge - "Let's see who can write the best song about _____". A bit of competitive fun can really get the creative juices flowing, and because each person's songs are always unique to that person, it ultimately isn't a real competition, it only starts off as one so as to get the artists working.
Now, what was my point?
I really want to get back to that lady and her ring, and I am a bit annoyed at myself for getting carried away with other posts and losing the flow of the story. So, to make myself feel a bit better, I have decided to think of Chapter One and Chapter Two as being the two floors which are needed to make the story, now I need to entice you to come inside. So then I think to myself "I have to find a fabulous illustration". So far, I've been using the peacock feather pictures, and I like the way they brighten up the endless black words, but what will I use to illustrate Chapter Three?
So I decide to put it off for another day. Instead of organising the next chapter, I visit my blog friends to see what they have been up to during the last few days. Imagine my surprise when I visit Suse and see that she has only just posted the perfect illustration for Chapter Three?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I have kept the chapter, word for word, as I wrote it before seeing Suse's beautiful photograph of her own hand. Except for one little word. You see, I felt compelled to somehow add Suse into the text, as a token of my appreciation. Originally, the lovely lady slipped her small, pale feet into a pair of quilted slippers. Well...I changed them to knitted slippers, for Suse.
THE LADY OF THE RING
The next morning, she opened her eyes to see sunlight glittering in the crack between the curtains, and she saw a small sparkle of light on the wall. She slowly sat up in bed, and found that the light sparkle was following her. She brushed some stray hair away from her eyes, and there was the sparkle darting back and forth across the wall. She stretched both her arms above her head, and there was the sparkle, stretching across the ceiling in a hurried flash. She pushed the blanket off, folded her arms, and took a good long look around the room. She checked all four walls, the chair, the cupboard door and the lampshade. She was doubly careful when looking at the folds of the curtains and the frames of the hanging pictures, and she even scanned the mirror for a long time, although the likelihood of a sparkle hiding there seemed far too obvious to be true. The sparkle had disappeared as mysteriously as it had entered her bedroom.
The lovely lady stood up, slowly and carefully, and twisted her back, first to the right, then to the left, checking whether she was still suffering from the previous night’s injury. In her delight at discovering that she felt no pain, she failed to notice the little sparkle which mimicked her movements to the right and left and back again. Covering herself with a silk dressing-gown, and slipping her small pale feet into a pair of knitted slippers, she floated dreamily towards the dining room. Breakfast was ready and waiting for her, as it always was. There was the plate, the cup, the silverware, the neatly folded newspaper, all ready for her and her alone. As she nibbled on her marmalade toast and sipped her tea, the day’s headline suddenly came into sharp focus before her eyes. JEWEL THIEF STRIKES AGAIN. Well, oh dear, that was rather strange. Her manicured fingers moved towards the newspaper, pulling it closer to her, flapping the front page open, holding it up towards the ray of light which was streaming in from the large french doors, and then her eyes slid sideways and rested on her left hand. There was a ring on that hand which she had never seen before. The ring was very large, and it seemed to pull the light, and then push it towards the ceiling, where it left a shivering sparkle, not unlike the one she had seen in her bedroom.
Her hands were now shaking uncontrollably. She knew they were shaking because of that noise she was hearing, that rustle rustling dry shivering shaking noise the newspaper was making as its pages flip-flapped between her arms. She steadied herself by digging her elbows into the dining table and leaning forward, and it was at that exact moment that the small black letters gathered before her eyes and told her that the jewel thief had struck again, last night, at the masquerade ball, by opening a safe, and removing from it one item. This item was considered to be the most precious jewel in the entire world, which made it, in actual fact, priceless. The article referred to it as “The Mother Ring.” She gasped, the newspaper fell from her fingers and slowly wafted down onto her lap, and then the floor, and then she stood up and ran as fast as she could, kicking off her slippers as she went, back to the bedroom. She stood before her mirror and stared at her own reflection, then she slowly raised her left arm and held it up towards the mirror, as if to show an acquaintance a newly acquired jewel. Her reflection looked down at the ring and nodded. Yes. It was real.