The Book Writer's Shop

The door dingled as a girl with curly hair that was braided over her shoulders walked in. She adjusted her dark rimmed glasses and earmuffs as an old man stood from the counter.

“Ah! Ms. Wimbledon, back again I see. Writing a new book are we?” An old man with fly away white tufts of hair greeted the girl as she slung a multicolored scarf over her shoulder.

“Oh yes, Mr. Waters! I’m thinking of combining two different sorts this time!”

“Oh wonderful, wonderful!” The old man exclaimed, coming out from behind the counter to greet her warmly. He shook her hand and guided her over to a stack of books in the glass window. “I must say, your last experiment as done quite well. I can hardly keep it on the shelves! I’ve just put these out this morning.”

He gestured to the stack of freshly bound cerulean blue books that over crowded the window. “Why, you’ve brought a new spark back to the imaginators!” he exclaimed.

“Oh really? It’s just what I love. Do please keep my secret, though. I don’t very much want people to know who I am.”

“Why, that’s what keeps them flying off the shelves. They want to know more about the creative mind and discover who you are. You’re secret’s safe with me!” He seemed eager to have her in the shop again.

“Will you need a bag?” He asked, going over to the desk to extract a paper bag from his counter.

“No thanks, as always I’ve brought my own.”

“Very well,” He said with a smile, “Please take your time finding what you want. Just then the door jingled again and a small girl walked in. She walked over to the stack of books in the window and pulled one off.

“Good morning, Scissy.” He said to the little girl. She was wrapped up completely in scarves, hoods, mittens and earmuffs. Her stunning blue eyes were the only tings visible beneath the layers of clothing she waddled around in.

“I think, today-“ She started very shyly, “I want to create my own book.” She whispered it as though it were a secret.

“Oh that’s great, Scissy, are you ready this time?” he asked.

“Well- my sister told me I shouldn’t waste my time- but I’ve just got to try again!” She said. She looked to be about seven or eight.

“Do you want to know a secret?” the old man asked and bent down to her level. She nodded furiously causing one of her two scarves to become unwrapped.

“The same girl that wrote this book said the exact same thing.” He said and tapped the book the girl held in her arms.

“Really?” She squealed and hugged the book tighter to her chest. Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

“That’s right! Now what can I help you with?”

The little girl looked around over the man’s shoulder. The selections were endless. This wasn’t an ordinary shop. This shop sold ideas and characters, settings and plots, good things and bad things, magic and danger, and one of the best sellers were happy endings. It doubled as a bookshop with endless books written by the very people that used the imagination stations.

There was one section along the west wall that had a large sign over head labeled ‘Villains.’ Beneath the sign were sparkling black tubs much like one would see in a candy store, only they held a different sort of object. There was a scoop hanging from each tub to scoop out the contents. There were rows upon rows of types of villains not in alphabetical order, but order of danger.

The first was labeled ‘Spixies.’ There was a short description of the objects inside printed on a plastic plaque on the front of the tub. The most dangerous tubs had locks on them. Their plaques read: Those that are unnamed. In place of the description was a note asking customers to request assistance when wanting to buy this kind.

There east wall was covered with golden bins and a sign above it read Heroes. Again these were in order from common people to super heroes. The center of the room was filled with many smaller aisles labeled ‘pets’ ‘extra characters’ ‘animals’ ‘slaves’ ‘beasts’ and other smaller names. Towards the back there were doors each leading to a different room. They each had a label. One was ‘Settings’ another ‘Plot’ ‘conflicts’ ‘categories’ ‘other’ each room had more tubs with more scoops lining the walls with items containing what the room offered.

The staircase next to the rows of villains led up stairs to the book shop and imagination center of the store. There were tables between the rows of books meant for sitting for those that couldn’t wait to get started on writing after they purchase their ideas. Almost all the writers that had their books in this shop had spent many hours in the chairs and tables here pondering how to continue their story.

The little girl wandered over to the ‘animal’ aisle. She opened a box labeled, ‘moose’ and stuck the scoop in. The man walked over to his counter and took a few brown bags from his shelf. He opened them and held them for the girl to empty the contents into the bag. A brown dust with manila sparkles tumbled down into the bag.

“What other animals would you like?”

“Do you have any unicorns?” She asked.

“Yes, my dear! They are over here in the beast section.” He guided her to the row labeled beasts and showed her the tub containing unicorns. She took the scoop and dug deep extracting a whole scoop of white sparkling powder. She emptied it into the same bag as the moose was put in.

“Now, I wan’t a hero.” She said. She walked over to the hero section. She noticed some of the golden tubs were a different color. “What do the different colors mean?” She asked.

“The different colors mean that the hero can change into the villain, the same goes with the villains. Do you see the tubs over thee that aren’t black? Those villains can change into heroes!”

“Oh, well in that case! I want this one!” She exclaimed, pointing to the very last box under the heroes. It was multicolored and far from gold. It’s label was ‘writer.’

“Why is ‘writer’ The last one? Shouldn’t it be a super hero?” She asked.

“A writer is greater than a super hero. A writer can be anything. A writer is a hard one to write about. Are you sure you’re up for the challenge?”

“Of course I am!” She exclaimed excitedly.

“Very well then. You won’t need too big of a scoop for this one.” He assured her. He opened the lid while she put the scoop in. The tub was almost completely full, as though it hadn’t been used before.

“You know,” Mr. Waters said, “There’s only been one other person to use this one. Can you guess who it was?” he asked. The little girl’s eyes sparkled, “Was it the one who wrote these books?” She whispered, holding out the blue book once more. Mr. water’s nodded. He could tell she was smiling even though he couldn’t see her face.

He opened a fresh bag for her and she gently dumped in a teaspoon sized amount into the bag. Mr. Waters rolled it up with the animal bag. “Every hero needs a villain.” He said when she seemed stumped at where to go next. She hesitantly waked over to the black tubs. She carefully read all of the villains under the least dangerous category. She was hesitant in choosing.

“Why do there have to be bad things that happen?” she asked, her eyes chancing a glance down at the dangerous side of the villains.

“There are bad things out there so that we can emphasize on the good.” He said, “Plus” he whispered, “Without them the story isn’t very interesting.”

“I’d like to change that,” She whispered back. She walked halfway down between the least and most dangerous. She pointed to a villain box that was actually light blue. It was labeled ‘sad man.’ She opened the lid and scooped a little of the contents out. The powder was mostly transparent and it dropped into the fresh bag.

The girl in pig tales watched as the man led the little girl to the back rooms to search for plots and conflicts. She remembered when she was that age. She’d come in every day and plan, never taking anything, but just imagining what she could take. Day after day she would come in and wander around the shop, tracing her fingers on the plaques and reading all of their descriptions. She knew them all by heart the day Mr. Waters came up behind her.

“I see you in here a lot, little girl. Can I help you make up your mind?”

“I want to write a story-“ She said with complete earnest and longing, “But there is so much to write about that I can’t even imagine where to begin.