First of all, I'd really like to thank you guys! You're just so... So good with me! I really appreciate those who reviewed my short stories and those good souls who added me as one of their favorite authors! You're just too good to live in this world! Thanks thanks thanks thanks a lot!
Remember the Hollywood's cliche about writer's blocks and things that happens in his or hers life? Well, Lucy = writer & Natsu and the rest = things that will happen in her life.
I'll write this story with lots of love and affection, as baking a cake. But I promise I'll try to keep writing other stories too. =)
Bye Bye! Good Vibrations for you guys!
"Hi, this Lucy Heartphilia's house! Please, leave your message after tone!" - She decided to let the answering machine do her job. God, those editors really could be annoying sometimes! A writer needs some alone time!
~Peeeeee
"Miss Heartphilia, we're just calling to remeber you about your next book deadline. We already have postponed it for six months. We'd like to remeber too that is cleary written on your contract that we were supposed to have published something yours four months ago. Magnolia Publishing House."
She was dead. No need to call a doctor. What a perfect timing she had. Never, in all her short life (21 is short, isn't it?) she had had writer's block! After three well succeeded and awarded novels she decided to have it. Fuck.
Deciding to give a break to herself, she got up from her work table, closing her notebook in the process. Stretching her back a little and hearing some bones make a weird noise, she wondered how long she have been seated in front os that plasma screen. Last time she checked, it was a Saturday, cause she remebered to had an great idea for her new book from a TV show that was exhibited only on Saturdays nights. Thirty minutes later after sitting to start her work, she knew it wouldn't work.
With her back still sore, she walked into her kitchen, where her dishes made a montrous pile all over her sink. Sighing deeply she decide to ignore it and landed her eyes in her objective: the 2011 calendar one of her friend gave her. Today was July 14th according to her loyal laptop. So...No-freaking-way.
Hell. She didn't leave her house for five days.
That was it. Taking a shower and changin into new clothes, Lucy was ready to go for a walk in less than thirty minutes. Picking up her BlackBerry, she saw 119 messages. Later. Waaay later she'd try to aswer that.
New York was cold this time of the year. Pulling her coat titgher around her, she left the apartment complex taht was strategically located next to Central Park. Stopping by a small coffee shop, she bought herself a moccaccino. Steaming hot. Coffee AND chocolate, just her style.
Entering the park, she took a sip of the divine drink. Relaxing a bit, she took a deep breath and started to lazily walk through the almost empty cemented streets. It was inspiring. Today, she'd finally find her story.
After an hour of walk and a long ago finished moccaccino, the young woman seated herself in an old and rustic bank. Relaxed, but still with no ideas for her novel, Lucy started to think about all the good things that happened to her those last three years. And the bad things too.
At the age of seven she had lost her mother. Her father's a bussiness man, so he only took interest ir her academical life. No tears for her mother, no 'good night dear Lucy' neither ' how was day darling?' at the dinner table. Actually, if she didn't see him every day of her life, she'd though her father's face was a newspaper leaf, as she always saw him evry morning, behind the NY Times.
Shaking the thoughts about her loveless father aside, she dove in the happy memory of her first published novel. At the age of eighteen she finished writting ' The waitress knots', a romance between a coffe waitress and a rich man that would pretend to be poor to get the know the girl better. But they didn't end up togheter. it would be too much of a cliché, she said to herself at the time.
The second one, already with a publishing house's contract, she wrote "Chronicles", a collection of love short stories that took place ate New York. Another huge success.
And then, her latest book. Her primadonna. "Snow tears", that told the story about a couple that lived happily at a small town in very distant and cold place. After having five children, the good guy died and ther mother had to raise the kids all by herself while dealing whith the pain of her loss. It was so natural for Lucy to write it that it sacred her.
And now she was here. Very late to deliver anything and probably very close to losing her contract...
"Scusa la mia macanza, posso sedermi qui?"
A startled Lucy looked to her right, where the voice had came from. Noticing a short aged man holding a screen and what she assumed to be a art crafts' wallet (she saw some brushes and a small can of paint label) she shook her head and grinned at him.
"Sorry sir, couldn't understand what you said" she asked him politely.
"Sì Sì! Scusa! I asket if I coult sit here, signorina." An italian! Smiling kindly t the man, she replied: "Of course sir! There's no problem! I'm sorry I couldn't understand what you said earlier...Don't know a word in italian!"
"That's okay I guess! Thank you for your kintness!" Smiling at her, the little man seated himself by her side. " This park here remind me of mia bella Toscana..."
"Your beautyful Toscana? In Italy?"
"Haha, I tought you sait you ditn't know a wort in italiano!" The ancient man teased her.
"Mia bella is too much of a movie expression for me not to know it" She ansewred animatedly.
"Sì Sì. Excellent musicals that were mate!" He commented while stirring inside that wallet of his, taking out a palete stainde with many colors and some thin brushes.
"Where are you from? I mean, in Italy..."
His face assuming a nostalgic expression, he dripped two different shades of green over the palltet and mixed them with a brush, soon achieving the color he was looking for.
"Provincia di San Gimignano. Big green fielts surrounting the most biautiful city of Toscana. More than five hundret years of story. It's silence talks it's history and screams it solitute. Biautiful..."
When she looked to the screen again, it already had took the shape of an epic view: A castle surrounded with a large wall and fields of never-ending green.
"What's your name sir?" She asked curiously, thinkg about how soft that green would feel under her feet"
"Makarov my dear signorina." After that, they satyed like that until he finished the painting.
"Here, for you mia bella. Hope it makes you remint of this olt man!" He offered the now colored screen to her.
"R-really? But this is beatiful..." She hesitantly took the paint from the man's small hands.
"Belezza, Miss, merita belezza." With that, he let go of the object, turned away and left.
After arriving her warm and confortable home again, Lucy left the screen over her couch and run straigh to her computer. Opening a travel agency's site, she bought a round-trip airfare. Then, she entered her e-mail and sent a message to her editor, Loki.
"Dear Loki =)
Going to Italy. Don't know when I'm coming back.
Deal with them a little more?
See ya - don't know if- soon..."