Downshire Diary – (18) Juliana the Muse

 His name was Owen Carrington and he was a writer and he was sitting in front of his laptop staring at an open page in Word headed “An Untitled Screenplay by Owen Carrington” below it was one other word “The” followed by a space and the pulsing cursor irritatingly waiting for more, but if he were to give it more, it would, like some crazed addict, just keep demanding more and more words, he knew it would never be satisfied.

Owen had reached a hiatus in his writing career more commonly referred to as writers block.

It hadn’t always been like this, he had some success in the field modest though it might have been, and he wrote two novels which were successful, one stage play very well received and several screenplays perhaps less so.

This early flourish had at least provided him with a reasonable return and gave him something of a nest egg, but, and there was always a but, but his early success had petered away.

Luckily he didn’t go all diva on his way up and had been able to survive on the good will of friends and acquaintances on the way down.
He milked all his contacts from University and the wider publishing world and picked up as many writing gigs as he could, a column here and an essay there.

His literary agent was worse than bloody useless so they parted company then he was thrown a lifeline by a close friend when he landed a prolonged spell as an Agony Aunt which he found most enlightening and he even had a three month stint as an Astrologer writing Horoscopes for the Shallowfield and Childean Chronicle while the regular astrology numpty, Mystique, went travelling to the East to find herself.
That gig ended when she returned having only got as far East as Sharpington.
But after that the block returned and he tried everything to break it, he even moved to Paris in an effort to immerse himself in its vibrant and colourful landscape with the hope that it might stimulate his writers bent but he just ended up getting pissed a lot.

So he reached the fulcrum, he was 27 years old staring into the abyss of his thirties and the money he had accrued from his successful phase as an Author was now running dry.

He had a stark choice to make, firstly he could blow the rest of his savings on a ticket to the states and join the swelling number of University graduates already there and try to compete with the fertile minds of those unconstrained by his affliction.

Secondly he could give up writing and get a proper job, a teacher maybe or God forbid an editor or thirdly his personal favourite, pray hard so he could just shake the writer’s block.

As luck would have it, he didn’t need to make a decision, as fate took a hand when his Uncle Glyn died on New Year’s Day and left him his Cottage in Denmead and a small cash sum, more than enough to keep him going for a few more years.

 

Owen’s Uncle Glyn died on New Year’s Day and left him his Cottage and a small cash sum more than enough to keep him going for a few more years.

He left it to him because he felt they were kindred spirits, he wanted to be a writer himself but his father made him get a proper job, Owen really liked him and he was a great story teller, and it was his Uncles colourful tales that helped him when he was writing his novels.

His death came as a shock as it was sudden though not unsurprising given his life style.

 

So that was how he found himself living in a lovely Victorian Cottage in the quaint Downshire Village of Denmead.

It was a very tranquil place though not without its distractions. 

From his study he could look out through the open French windows and across the expanse of lawn to a stand of ancient woodland, there was no fence to separate garden and wood the two just merged.

And on the other side of the wood was the hub of the village, the Green Oak, everyone seemed to go there at some point, either for a drink, the restaurant or the coffee suite.

 

So it was while he was still in the grip of his writer’s block that he set off for a walk through the Normandie woods seeking inspiration.

It was a glorious day at the beginning of May, unseasonably warm in fact and after an hour he had worked up a thirst so he headed towards the Green Oak.

 

When he got there, there seemed to be a big do on at the pub but he made his way to the bar anyway and he was pleased to see the gorgeous Juliana Molesworth was serving.

Ever since he first met her he’d had a soft spot for Juliana, and he often fantasized about her.

She was only just twenty and he later found out she was home for the weekend from Abbottsford University where she was studying English and creative writing.

Since his arrival in the village back in January and it being known he was a writer it was perhaps not unsurprising that they would gravitate toward each other.

They had talked many times about her various writing assignments, which were her opportunity to pick his brains on writing issues and his chance to admire her at close quarters.

She was five foot eight with short curly red hair, stunning blue eyes and a gorgeous figure and stella legs.

As she was working the bar that day she was dressed in her uniform of short black skirt and crisp white blouse.

“Hello stranger” She said smiling broadly

“I was wondering if you might pop in”

“Hi Juliana” he replied, “I’ve come out looking for a muse”

Juliana raised an enquiring eyebrow

“Writers block”

She nodded understandingly

“Do you want the usual?”

“Yes please” he replied looking around at his fellow guests “oh and have one yourself”

“I’ll have one later, if that’s ok?” she said as she set a pint of Mornington on the counter in front of him.

“No problem”

Just then a loud group of punters arrived at the bar demanding her attention.

“I’ll see you later” Owen said and went in search of inspiration.

 

Owen left the Green Oak after finishing his pint, he would have had a second but it was too noisy so he set off for a walk around the village and headed towards the Church of Saint Jane Frances de Chantal and then he spent another two hours strolling around the environs of Denmead and found himself back in Normandie woods hot, tired and still lacking inspiration.

The combination of drinking at lunchtime and the heat of the sun had left him light headed so he was glad to be in the woods within striking distance of the cool sanctuary of the cottage.

He had just stepped beyond the tree line onto the fringe of his lawn when he was hailed by a voice from behind him.

He turned around and saw gorgeous Juliana emerge from the woods, he assumed she must have finished work for the day as she had changed out of her uniform and was wearing a lovely green summer dress and having caught a glimpse of her bra strap he imagined that everything beneath her dress matched. 

“If you’ve finished work come and have that drink” he said

“Ok, I was hoping you’d say that” she said and sat on the patio while he opened the back door and went inside, he returned a minute or so later with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“Did you find her?” She asked

“I’m sorry?”

“Your muse” she clarified

“Alas no” he replied “She was conspicuous by her absence”

“Oh dear” she said “Would it help to talk to me about it”

“Well I need all the help I can get” he said “I’ll get my laptop”

He opened his laptop and set it in front of her and the screen showed an open page in Word headed “An Untitled Screenplay by Owen Carrington” and below it was one other word “The” followed by a space and the pulsing cursor.

“Oh dear” she exclaimed “You really do need help”

“I do have a synopsis” he said defensively

“Can I see it?” she asked

He used the mouse pad to open another word document and then let her read it.

After that they sat and drank and talked and typed for the next two hours when the temperature started to dip so they moved indoors.

“Would you like another drink?” he asked

“I’d rather have a sandwich” she replied

“Oh I think I can do better than that” he said “Do you like pasta?”

“Oh yes” she replied and half an hour later he put a steaming bowl of pasta in front of her.

After the food they sat and drank and talked and typed some more and at some point over the next three hours they both dozed off.

 

After a nap of indeterminate length he awoke to find Juliana leaning against him with her head on his shoulder and he smiled and kissed the top of her head.

“Come on sleepy head” he said as he gently woke her “I’ll walk you home”

 

As he walked her home in the moonlight she suddenly asked

“So am I your muse?”

“If you want the job it’s yours”

“Well you really do need one” she said “But I was really hoping for something more” and she stood on tiptoe and kissed him

“Well why can’t you be both?” he suggested

“Yes please” she replied and they kissed again.

  

“Well that was an interesting day” he said as he climbed into his bed and as he drifted off to sleep he reran the most interesting aspects of the day through his head, namely the goodnight kiss with Juliana in which she had said she wanted to be his girlfriend.

He began his sojourn that morning searching for a muse and by the time the day as ended he had found her and she was so much more to him than a muse.

 

He woke in the early hours of the morning with his head buzzing with words and phrases so he got up and went to his study where he opened his laptop, and selected the page that had become so familiar to him headed “An Untitled Screenplay by Owen Carrington” and below it was one other word “The” followed by a space and the cursor pulsing, impatiently awaiting input, almost like it was tapping its foot as it stood ever ready to receive further instructions so he sat down and miraculously he began to type the words the cursor craved and they flowed out of him like a river, if not a torrent.
Four hours later he stopped typing but only then because he was hungry and he found he had typed five chapters.

Owen was euphoric, with Juliana as his muse and love he had broken his block.

He went to the kitchen and ate a hearty breakfast but decided on a hot shower before continuing and while he was showering his mind was buzzing again but this time it was purely thoughts of Juliana and when was he going to see her again.

He dressed for the day with the intention of going to track her down but when he looked at the clock it wasn’t even 7 o’clock.

So he returned to his computer having deferred his search for his new love until a more respectable hour and as soon as he sat down the river of words flowed again and he continued to write for the rest of the morning and he only stopped then when he caught sight of Juliana coming across the lawn.

He rushed out to greet her and a passionate kiss soon followed and they spent the rest of the day together, with him writing on his laptop and her reading the finished chapters.

 

So that was how Juliana the muse and Owen the writer came to be together and thanks to a beautiful student his writer’s block was gone, and although he had begun by trying to write a screenplay he actually ended up writing a book which didn’t perturb him in the slightest.

The screenplay would come later and he would collaborate on it with Juliana.

The genre was a new departure for him too as he was more used to gritty crime stories and so he was surprised that it appeared  he had a penchant for writing romantic novels, with a hint of bodice ripping.

The knowledge gained from his time as an agony aunt would no doubt be invaluable.

 

However he decided not to publish under the name of Owen Carrington but rather decided to use a pen name and the one he settled on was Clarissa Greenoak, not chosen because the use of a classy name might lend the book some literary weight but because it was the name of a girl and that always sold better than a man.