The Creative Process

Part One, Chapter One: I Lied

Every day was the same, average and boring. Wake up, roll out of bed, into my shoes and out the door. No breakfast, don't get me wrong, waffles are heaven on earth, but the grog of the morning just ruined them for me. Grab my bag with my MacBook and, because more often then not I forgot to charge it over night, my charging cord; and away I go out of the apartment door and down to the small coffee shop beneath my building. Once or twice I'd forgotten to lock the door behind me, but my roommate, Kate, never got home before me so I never got caught. I don't see Kate very much anyways, so I have no clues as to what she would do if she caught me.

The coffee shop, conveniently called "the Creative Corner", is lined with bookshelves packed full of volumes and note books. There's a small roped off section where, upon purchase of any drink of the paint splatter frappe line, you can paint on a small array of canvases and they even have paintings made by the local children hung up around the shop. They're mostly just abstract splatters of paint and steaks of color but they added life to the quiet shop.  I retired to my regular corner with my laptop and my hot chocolate, despite the fact that it was the middle of June, and get to work. I open a new page in my blog, carefully marking it as "draft", and prepare to write, feeling the eyes of thousands of readers awaiting my words. My blog is my full time job and I write fictional stories about a man in Boston who anonymously stops crimes with his supernatural abilities. My spine sunk into the armchair as my mind sunk into my storyline.

"The rubber soles of my nike tennis shoes slip on the wet concrete and I flail and stumble across the alley until I catch myself against the opposite wall just before my face slams into the bricks. My ears prick and suddenly I'm flying down the isle again, dodging the dumpsters and piles of boxes that really make this a stereotypical Boston alley. The thump of his boots ahead of me was earlier inaudible but now it grows louder as I push myself faster. I leap out the other opening of the alley and almost run straight into an older lady, who pulls her coat tighter around her and steers away from me. I quickly adjust my hair and straighten my clothes, blending into the crowd. Ahead of me, I catch a whiff of the inner workings, or, thoughts if you will, that I'd just been tracking and my eyes lock on to my target. A man is crossing the street. Its him and I know it. I speed up ever so slightly and make it to the edge of the road right as the light changes and the cars form a barrier in between us. I take my hand out of my pocket and aim my fingers at him. With a flick of my wrist, the man stops and sits on a bench. I cross the street, still holding my hand at waist height and pointing it at him, like I have him on an invisible leash that I'm trying hard not to loose my hold on. As I pass his bench, I flick my hand again and he stands up follows me. Sweat breaks out over my forehead and my hands shake as I try no to loose my hold. I veer right and he follows me into a back alley behind the creative corner coffee shop. I gasp and my hand hits my lap. The man jerks and his gaze whips around the space and takes in my position in between him and the exit.
He's shaking, I can tell and I know I have him where I want him, a very close call this time. A few more seconds and I would have set him loose in the middle of a crowded street. He warns me to stay back and pulls a handgun out of his jacket. I stay steady and keep my eyes locked on his. His thoughts are screaming at me at this point and its getting a little too much. He cocks the gun and points it at my chest. I raise my hands in apparent surrender and his finger tightens over the trigger. At the last second I jerk my hand and a car tire flies across the alley and hits him in the head. I realize to late that the gun might go off as he falls so I step back and plug my ears. Nothing happens, thank god. I call the cops on his phone, then walk out of the alley and blend back into the crowd in the street."

I wrote for about an hour and a half and then copy and pasted it into the editing software Kate put together for me. Im not the most social and sometimes I feel bad for how much she wants to get to know me. She just cant, but its still nice that she did that for me, someday ill pay her back. I edited the mistakes the software highlighted for me and hit post.
The door squeaked shut behind me as I set off down the road, moving away from my apartment.

I let my mind roam street, perusing the thoughts in the air and the energy fizzing off of the crowd. My consciousness stretched out like a net, scanning for anything out of the ordinary. Then I caught something. I honed in on it and sped up my pace down the sidewalk, searching for the... tall woman who I could tell was carrying a bomb.
              My eyes were no longer guiding me, my mind was. I lunged through the bank doors after the woman and threw out my hands just in time to contain the explosion. I lowered my hands and gave my wrist one flick to disarm the bomb. I panted, ignoring the stares from the people surrounding me in the bank. The woman opened her eyes in surprise and rushed off to the restrooms. I made a quick survey of the space, knowing there was really no way to smooth over what I'd just done, before following her.

That thing I said about every day being the same? And that my blog was "fictional"? Yea, I lied.

(If this goes well I'll write more comment if you want more chapters!)