Fibre and Ink (Foggy Basin Season Three)

Chapter One

Aster

My poetry will change the world. I believe that. I do.

But (and this is a big, annoying but and not a cute round butt like mine) I also know that for people to actually read my poetry, and therefore be changed by it, I need to work hard.

I need to write poetry and edit it and maybe write essays and novels as well, and edit those and get them out into the world so people can read them and be changed by them.

And to do that I have to sit down and actually write.

There’s an interview with Leonard Cohen (one of my heroes) where he described his process.

He says it takes him a long time to get to the good stuff.

He had to work at it. He said something along the lines of, “You have to write the garbage first, to get to the good stuff after.”

Well, I’ve graduated college. I wrote a lot of garbage there, and some really good stuff too.

But now? I’m free in the world, I have time on my hands and I have garbage to write.

Only one problem.

Okay, two.

The first problem is what do I write?

The second problem is where do I write?

I had elaborate daydreams of sitting at the kitchen table in my family’s small apartment and gazing out into the bright morning view of Foggy Basin’s Main Street, the muse sweeping in from above and possessing me to write elaborate and beautiful fictions.

That’s what I did on Monday morning.

I set up at the kitchen table with a cup of chamomile tea (good for the nerves), a notebook and pen as well as my laptop. Ideal, right?

Just like my dreams.

Except it’s early August, and the sun streams directly into that kitchen window in glorious bright rays.

So, I’m sweltering at the kitchen table, unable to think of anything except how hot it is, and that’s when Tane decides to bake anxiety bread.

What’s anxiety bread, you ask?

It’s bread we don’t need because we already have loaves in the house, but it soothes Tane to make them, and he needs a lot of soothing what with organizing a wedding.

Also he lives hundreds of miles away from his family and he gave up a successful music career to live in tiny little Foggy Basin, which barely has more than two roads.

And like, I love bread. Especially warm, right out of the oven fresh bread that smells as good as it tastes, i.e. divine.

And I love Tane, my soon-to-be-brother in law. Tane is from Aotearoa New Zealand, he's tall with soft brown skin and eyes that twinkle when he's amused. His black wavy hair is hidden under a bandanna while he cooks.

He’s humming to himself as he kneads the dough.

He has a wonderful voice. I was a fan of his music well before I ever met him, so it’s not like a I mind the humming, or the wedding.

I love love, and I love Tane and Dillon (my brother) together.

But it’s not even happening until December 20th, and it was sending Tane into all kinds of spirals.

But the slapping of the dough and random snippets of different songs do not a soothing background noise make.

I needed something easier to ignore.

Something more constant.

I grabbed my laptop, notebook and a handful of pens. Even a pencil, in case my muse wanted a pencil to write with, into a backpack, changed into pants that were appropriate to wear out of the house, and said see ya to Tane.

The Blue Star Diner, that would be the place I created my masterpiece. Maybe I had the Next Great American Novel in me? If I did the diner would certainly bring it out of me.

I set myself up at a corner booth with my tools within easy reach including a steaming cup of coffee and a toasted everything bagel.

Harlow walked in, her long chestnut hair falling about her shoulders. She's tall, and gorgeous, and has round Kardashian-style hips. She saw me and made her way over, high heels clicking on the diner floor. “Hey, Aster, how are you?”

“Hey Harlow.” I stood and hugged hello. Our relationship over the last year had been rocky but we were back on solid ground now. “What’re you up to?”

“Oh, I’m grabbing an early lunch before I start at the community center,” she said.

I opened my mouth to ask her to join me and paused. I was there to write, I couldn’t give in to the first excuse to avoid my work. Could I?

Harlow glanced past me and saw my set up. “Oh, you’re getting some work done? That’s so nice. I won’t bother you, I’m getting a smoothie to go.”

“Yeah, well trying to get some work done.” I ran my hand through my hair. “Haven’t made much headway yet.”

“You’ll get there. See you soon?” She kissed me on the cheek.

“Yeah, soon.”

Harlow went to order at the bar and I sat back down. I sipped my coffee then added sugar.

Okay. Writing.

But I didn’t have anything to write about.

I typed a description of the diner, just for something to do. Maybe writing would unlock something inside me, from the mere the act of it.

It didn’t work.

I stared at my laptop as if it contained the secrets of the universe. At school I’d been given directions. Assignments. With direction, I’d been able to write. Was knowing I was writing something with purpose, what sparked my imagination?

Where did that leave me as a writer? If I didn’t have an assignment I was lots at sea?

What kind of writer needed someone to tell them what to do? Leonard Cohen would never have written like that.

Where was my muse?

Did I even have a muse?

What would my muse even look like if I had one? Were muses all girls or could I have a trans muse like myself?

My slowly spiralling panic over what a muse was stopped abruptly when Andrew approached the booth. “Want anything else to eat, Aster?”

I looked at my plate of crumbs. I’d inhaled my bagel without realizing it. When had that happened?

“Uh, sure.”

I grinned at him, hoping it covered my panic. Andrew, his brother and their partners had all been in my drag show at Pride. I couldn’t ruin his idea of me as a highly competant and awesome drag king be sullied by me panicking on a Monday morning over nothing.

Andrew was a very handsome man with golden hair and a smile as warm as a fresh cinnamon bun. “Is a roast beef sandwich with mustard and mayo still your favorite?”

My stomach grumbled and I nodded. “Side of fries, too?”

“Coming right up.”

The door opened. Harlow and her brother Mickey walked in together.

She stopped when she saw me. “You’re still here?”

I checked the time, hours had passed since she’d been in for a smoothie. How had that happened? How long was I panicking?

I waved them over, sliding my stuff back into my bag. “Yeah, come join me. I’ve ordered just ordered a sandwich.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Mickey slid into the booth beside me. “How you doing, Aster?”

“Good,” I said, my mouth on automatic.

Not only was Mickey cute as hell with that strong nose, bright dreamy eyes and a full beard, but he was a kind-hearted man who had brought me sushi on the day of the Pride festival.

He'd looked after Harlow after their parents had died suddenly.

He'd taken over the family alpaca farm and expanded it into a Christmas tree business?

He was so, damn, competant. My brain tended to short out when I spoke to him.

“Get lots of writing done?” Harlow sat on the other side of the booth.

I groaned and rubbed my hands over my face. “No. It’s hopeless. I have no ideas, and I keep eating.”

Andrew came back to take Harlow and Mickey’s lunch orders. I dropped my hand to the table and Harlow rubbed it gently.

“You’ll be fine. I read the articles you wrote for the student paper you sent, you’re good at this.”

I swallowed. “I hope so. I just...I don’t know. I couldn’t write at home and now I think the diner might not be the solution either. Back in Sacramento I could go to the student library and find a quiet corner and... go for it.”

Harlow made a soft sympathetic noise.

“If it’s quiet you want, why don’t you come out to the farm?” Mickey asked. “It’s only me there most of the time, since Harlow’s working a dozen jobs and has an apartment in town.”

Harlow’s eyes widened. She clutched my hand. “It’s perfect! It’s so quiet out there, and Mickey needs company or he gets a bit weird and starts talking to the alpacas.”

Mickey’s cheeks glowed red over the line of his beard. “Everyone talks to the alpacas.”Harlow gave him a bombastic side eye. “More than normal.”

I bit my lip. It ounded ideal, although Dillon and I shared a car. I didn’t want to waste a whole lot of gas driving back and forth all the time.

“Maybe? I don’t...”

“You could use one of the guest rooms?” Mickey suggested. “That apartment you share with Tane and Dillon must be feel pretty small.”

“You’re not wrong.” I swallowed, looking between them.

“Are you sure? I mean, my folks are making their way back for the wedding, I think they said they’d be back by Halloween, and I definitely need my own place by then.

It’d obviously be temporary, until I find my feet. ” “I’m sure.” Mickey met my eyee.

That should have been an uncomfortable amount of eye contact but with him, it was just right.

I licked my lips. “Thanks, um. I think that would actually be perfect? I don’t have much stuff, so I could probably come out tomorrow. Get Tane to drop me off — I don’t have my own car.”

“I’ll drive you,” Harlow said. “I’m flexitime tomorrow. And I can help you settle in.”

“Not a problem.” Mickey grinned. “This could be really fun. I’ve never lived with a drag king before.”

I chuckled, slowly relaxing into the idea. “Well, it’s not like I’m running a show every week.”

“Now I can see both of you when I come around for dinner.” Harlow beamed, sitting back as if she’d planned this all along.

Maybe she had?

Harlow loved a scheme.

Andrew delivered our food and I smiled at both of them.

Could I keep my raging crush on Mickey under control and not ruin the friendship I’d recently rekindled with Harlow?

What was I doing?

I should change my mind, cut it off now before something terrible happened. I almost did but then Mickey cracked a joke about alpacas and all my determination withered. I couldn’t resist his smile.

I was absolutely doomed.

The best I could hope for was maybe I could get some writing done before it all blew up.