Jimmy dropped his orange socks on the floor next to the bed. It had been a good day. When he found the old Smith-Corona at the yard sale he was knew he had to buy it. True, the letters were all but worn off, but he loved the smell of it. And, miraculously the ribbon still moved. He had tried to write for a little while but nothing worked. Now he was tired, so tired. Maybe in the morning…

Jimmy  fluffed up the pillows and slipped under the covers. He kept the lamp on beside him and just stared at the typewriter on the desk across the room. Thoughts of his past floated into his mind. A promise to his Mom that someday, he would have a story
published. Maybe even a novel.

Not that he didn't try hard enough. His eyes wandered past the
parrot's cage in the corner of his bedroom over to the bookcase.
Rows and rows of writing books, stacked up neatly. He knew them all by heart.

"Maybe I just don't have the gift. I have something I want to say, but I feel blocked somehow. Almost like I haven't lived
long enough to know the right thing to say. Or perhaps, I don't
understand myself enough to wander in those dark places and
write from my own soul.", Jimmy wonders  as he puts his head
in his hands.

"Writer's are an arrogant lot, actually believing that people
want to read about their heartache, joy, tears and everyday
life. Why would they? Oh, dammit, I can't sleep. I need to
write something! Anything to get this out of my heart!"

Jimmy walks over to the desk and touched the keys of the typewriter.

He closes his eyes and almost felt a vibration coming off the keys.

He senses that this typewriter and the story in his imagination

will be special. He just wants to try...That's all he can do. Try.

He thinks of the promise he made to his Mom so many years

ago. For a moment, time seems to melt away and he can

almost feel her presence near him. A hand on his shoulder.

A reminder. That he is not alone.

He smiles.

A familar voice whispers in his ear.

His mother's voice.

"You do have something to say. And someone will read it and
like it. Try, Jimmy, just try. That's all you can do. Believe
in yourself."

Jimmy stretched his arms to the ceiling and took out a white sheet of paper. He rolled it into the typewriter and let his
fingers get used to the keys. He just typed letters for a while
and let his mind clear. Soon enough an idea popped into his
mind.

"I will write about what I am feeling now, and let out this
confinement of words and dreams and wishing. I am sure that
dream is somewhere between the mind and the paper. It will
come if I don't push."

He typed..."Of all the dreams I have ever dreamed, I wander
into the mist, knowing I have to find my way back home, but
lost in the swirling fog of doubt. I see a light up ahead,
beckoning me forward. I stand, frozen for a moment, then I hear
a familiar voice. A voice from yesterday.

It is his mother.

She is standing there with a book in her hand, smiling.

Behind her is a door and it is painted pink.

I find the courage to move forward as the fog lifts and
my steps get easier. She embraces me and shows me the book.

It has his name on the cover and she says softly.

"I believe in you. Just believe in yourself."

  He is all choked up.

  He says nothing but tears come down his cheeks.

  He puts the key in the lock and  feels free.

  He is no longer confined.

  As Jimmy turns around she says, "Jimmy, just keep going and
they will read you. Write what you know. Remember the
cottage? Write about that. You know the people. Write about them and how they touch your life. Trust what you know and its
going to be good. "

Jimmy kept typing through the night. Page after page flew from
his fingers....

Dawn came quickly as he typed his way through the dark night
of his doubts. Morning brought confidence and a new story.

He calls his story.."Touching the Dawn's Light"

He spends the next few days just reading over what he had typed
that night. The words amaze even Jimmy. He feels like the angels
inspire him and mostly his Mom had helped him pen this
treasure.

Mom had been gone for almost ten years but that fateful night
she was my Jimmy's side the whole time.

Yes, Jimmy they will read your story and they will like it.

Jimmy touches the keys of that old Smith-Corona that

reminds him that it isn't the age of the typewriter but

the ideas and imagination of the writer

that matters...

He whispers a silent prayer to his Mom...

As his fingers wander the keys of the old Smith-Corona

once again creating words that make people smile...

Perhaps...