CHAPTER
Ilsa paused, or rather, Carlita paused. The stogy old Ilsa McIntyre was dropping away and the cunning, seductive Carlita Blade was taking her place. What chapter should this be? Carlita knew which scene she wanted to write, but it wouldn’t be the opening scene. What chapter did the juicy part of the story usually begin?
I’m a bit out of practice, she thought.
She typed “3)” as the chapter number. If this wasn’t right, she could always change it later. She had plenty of correction tape.
The blank, white surface under the chapter heading gazed back at her seductively. This was always an exciting moment, full of possibilities. She was on the cusp where creative energy started to flow. She stroked the keys in rapid succession; the type ball battered its way across the paper, leaving immortal words behind it.
When it came to creative writing, she much preferred this veteran typewriter to a soulless computer keyboard. The Selectric was an old friend; it had personality. The bold staccato of the type ball in its progress along the platen throbbed with genuine life. The noise stimulated her creativity, and even better, it had irritated Alfred when he was still on the scene.
She’d purchased the Selectric, used, many years earlier with funds from her own stingy allowance. Alfred had always mocked her “literary ambitions” and had refused to support them – not that he ever supported her in other ways, except for basic material things. The man was an unfeeling, manipulative, tightwad and ...
Well, he was not in a position to criticize her “writing infatuation” any longer, was he?
The words flowed uninterrupted from Carlita’s imagination, through her fingertips to the keys and then onto the paper: