Talent In Transition

“This is the story I would tell instead I must admit I do not remember much of those days,” the athletic talent was trying to be honest dressed in a three-piece suit replacing the competitive uniform.

“That is all right,” the decision-making lady comforted, “we have people on our list who can assist you in all this, most importantly you talk to them and get things off your chest.”

A few minutes later Declan a well-respected winner in the city was back on the street feeling like he scored a major goal. “Yes, Declan you scored a major goal,” his mother stated from a small telephone device that the sporting success held in his hand.

“That is right, I am now Declan the author,” he reaffirmed strengthening his stride heading into a coffee shop.

“I will have a large Grande,” the competitor turned storyteller told the cashier and within a second the hot beverage replaced the wireless contraption as a priority.

Placing the knapsack on the table Declan pulled out his laptop and started pounding away at the keyboard. For more than an hour his eyes never left the electronic screen remembering facts to the best of his ability. And when the shop keeper started to put the chairs on the tables he rose deciding to leave.

Throughout the next few weeks Declan found the laptop to be a nice companion as a single word multiplied into sentences and paragraphs formed pages. After having accumulated numerous papers molding a stack pile Declan separated the work into chapters numbering and naming each of them.

Once again it was time to wear the pinstripes, board the train, and head back into the city. Reaching the publishing house office behind the bookstore stone water display Declan approached the cashier, “Is Barnes Noble in? I have the manuscript agreed upon,”

“Yes, she is,”

When Barnes Noble came out, she was very apologetic, “I have been so busy I could not contact someone to talk to you about your book.”

“That is fine Mrs. Noble, I just decided to write and here are the first few chapters,” Declan pulled the file out.

“Well, Declan, how much were you able to remember?”

“Not much,” Declan answered, “that is why I wrote a fictional story.”

Taking a glance through the galley she was astounded, “Declan you are an author.”

“Yeah, I know, Mrs. Noble, don’t you remember the creative writing assignments I used to submit in your English class?”

“Yes, I do Declan and that is why I told my superiors to offer you a contract,” Mrs. Noble said, “we know your actual talent.”