Prologue: A New Prologue

A normal date with an author and a character she hasn't known in a long time.

“It's been a while, huh?” 

A short woman with bob length brown hair streaked with gray, sat down at the high table on the far wall of the Front Street Cafe, a shop which itself was tucked into the corner of the streets Front and Gouverneur on the easternmost side of the Big Apple. After opening her computer, she stood, popped her back in more than three places, and went to the counter. After waiting just half a minute too long at the counter, the barista, whose name tag said ‘Emory’ with a small smiley face written playfully next to the neat handwriting, emerged from the back. She pulled her long dark hair into a ponytail then took the woman’s order. The order was simply a “Tall Americano, black as tar.”

Emory asked for her name which was only met by a side eye and half smile. The barista knew who she was, everyone in the cafe knew who she was. “That'll be out right away, Ms. Wood. You said black as tar? I can make that happen.” 

She looked over at the corner table and at the computer on top as she began to scribble her famous patron’s name on the thick paper cup. “I assume you are writing a new book? I can’t wait to read it when it's done! Oh sorry, that’ll be… um, three dollars and fifty nine cents for you today.”

She couldn’t help but shake her head at the fanatical enthusiasm as she returned to her seat. It was for fans like Emory which she decided to begin writing once again. It was also for her own financial stability, although she had tried not to let it be the only reason.

 After starting up a new document, for the first time in what felt like forever and pushing aside those unsavory thoughts about money, she cracked her knuckles and got to work. By the time that her coffee had arrived, she had already burned through twenty prototype titles and at least sixteen starting sentences, none of which felt quite right. About ten minutes and a couple sips of coffee later, she found it. In that moment ‘The Tale Of Ms. Jocelyn M. Thatcher’ was born and with it the best starting sentence she had ever constructed: 

“I am not much of what you would consider to be a lovebird.”

Then, doing as almost all authors tended to do, she sat and stared at the single line on the blank page for a very long time before even trying to put something else down after it. By the time that she did, her coffee had begun to cool down to the point where steam no longer was escaping the black surface.  However, once she began to actually write, the words began to flow like a river from her fingertips.