Lafayette
Man of Artistic Fingers
I'm doing a lot of editing and re-writing lately. I now know and understand things about writing that I didn't three years ago. Still it isn't easy It's been very challenging. I also realize that I'm too close to my writing to be objective. That's why I'm coming to the forum. I'm looking for input good, bad. and indifferent.
In a warm kitchen, in a warm wooden house, in Arizona, a sturdy chair squeaked in protest as a chubby Percy Smith leaned back, sipping sweet red wine, and taking a light breath. “As usual, that was beautiful, Vincent. I especially enjoyed the interlude of the third movement. I could hear the birds chirping and the tree leaves rustling in the wind. Your virtuosity puts me there.”
“Thanks, Percy,” replied the troubadour as the twelve-string’s resonance gracefully faded into the afternoon spring air with the chirping robins and sparrows. “It is truly gratifying to display my artistry to someone that sincerely appreciates it.”
“Percy, I could make you a brilliant guitarist too,” said Richards. “If only you would become my student. You have the ears and passion.”
Percy glared. “Here we go again, I’ve told you before …”
“Yes, yes, I know,” interrupted Richards. “I am forty-seven years old; I am too old to learn anything new. The truth, my luthier friend, is, you’re too lazy and complacent, You’re in a rut. You need some adventure to stimulate you.”
“Adventure! Bah! What good is adventure? Will it feed me? Will it keep me warm? Besides, where there is adventure, there is unknown danger and I want nothing to do with it. I’m a Truer and a good Truer doesn’t need adventure.”
Vincent laughs. “Yes, you are a good Truer, perhaps too good.”
“Now, what about your guitar?” asked Percy. “Is it not perfect like all of my creations?”
“Yes, it is perfect,” replies the troubadour, softly strumming the guitar “The lows are mellow, the octaves are clear and rich and it rings like mademoiselle Shannel’s door chime. Like all of your guitars, it’s perfect. However,” he added as he sat the guitar aside and whisper, “I cannot accept it.”
“What! You do not have the money?” asked Percy, raising a black eyebrow.
“Come, come Percy!” snapped the troubadour, quickly standing and waving his hands. “You hurt my feelings. I am Vincent Rene Richards, the greatest troubadour of the three continents! I am paid in the purest gold. Copper never lines my pockets. Here,” he said, tossing his purse onto the table. “As you can see, it is twice the amount you asked for.”
“Then what is the problem?” asked Percy.
“The problem, mon friend,” answered Richards. “Is my impending poverty and surpassing perfection.”
“Impending poverty and surpassing perfection?” echoed Percy.
“Except for the coin I have shown you, I’m broke,” sighed Richards. “My traveling expenses and extravagant spending will make me a pauper. Unless,” he added. “I give a performance at the coronation of Prince Raymond surpassing perfection. Our, to be king, is demanding, surpassing perfection from everything and everyone, including me. He is promising me he will give me a chateau and a generous pension for my retirement. However, … No performance surpassing perfection, no retirement”
“You’re retiring, Why?” asked Percy.
Sitting down again, Richards picked up the guitar and began finger picking minor chords. “Yes, I’m retiring,” replied the troubadour. “The coronation will be my last public appearance. As you know, Percy, the coronation will be the diamond event of the century. However, after sixty-nine years of performing and traveling, I need to retire, I’m getting too old,”
Then looking up at Percy, he added, “Your guitar is not beyond perfection.”
“What do you expect?” asked Percy. “I offered you a higher bridge to raise the volume. You say no. I offer ladder bracing and you say it’s too punchy and rude. I offer a maple top instead of spruce for brightness and you say no. You claim the bass runs will sound muddy and lose clarity. You want to hear octaves. I give you octaves. I suggested mahogany. You complain it’s too woody. You demanded heavenly. I give you heaven’s harp. I end up making your guitar from one of my metair trees. It’s not like you to be so temperamental.”
“Yes, that is true. Until now, perfection was enough. Now I need surpassing perfection.”
Percy sputters. “You must play my guitar, my masterpiece, Vincent. Business has been turtle slow. The coronation, you, my guitar, will spark new business. Without this crowning achievement, my competitors will have my clientele.”
Richards stared at his plump friend. “Since when, Percy, do you worry about competitors? Something is wrong, what is it?”
Percy turned his head away. Then he stared at the troubadour with woe. “I’m in debt.”
“You’ve been in debt before and paid your way out. What’s the rub?”
“The rub is Lyon the Lender,” breathed Percy.
“And?”
“And I owe him forty thousand francs.”
“Forty thousand francs!” exclaimed Richards. “By the saints, that is a lot of coin. Why so much and for what?”
“My aunt Joenic was very sick with a rare disease. The healers declared the only cure was five very rare and expensive potions. I didn’t have the coin. And the local lenders don’t enjoy lending to Truers.”
“Lyese heard of my plight and made me an offer. He said he would give me fifty thousand francs up front if I agreed to make his mistress a guitar of Teitton Swamp Oak in one month.”
Richards’s mouth dropped open. “Percy just owning a plank of Teitton Swamp Oak is illegal.”
“Yes, I know, but Aunt Joenic was failing every day. I just couldn’t see her suffer and do nothing. To meet his deadline, I had to cancel five contracts and refund ten thousand francs. Swamp Oak extremely hard to work with. I went without sleep for six days, but I completed and delivered it.
“But he was not happy,” added Richards. “Why?”
“He was for three days, Then, two days later, the guitar was infested by Boemeanian Termites. The guitar was beyond repair. He said I should have treated the guitar with Morteen, which is incompatible with Swamp Oak. He wants his money back in three weeks. He vows to burn my house and shop down.”
“I can’t that raise that much money in three weeks. Without your endorsement and a royal gesture from the king, I’m doomed.”
“You can have my pouch of coin, Percy.” said Richards. “I wish I could do more for you, Percy, but as I’ve said, I’m broke.”
“You can help me, Richards, by playing my guitar.”
“Percy, Percy, I can’t do that,” enunciated Richards. “I promised the prince a performance beyond perfection. In all honesty, your guitar is not beyond perfection. You’re a man of integrity. You should understand this. I am truly sorry, Percy.”
Vincent, if you don’t play my guitar, what am I to do?”
Vincent tries to smile. “I don’t know. But you will survive, you are a Truer and Truers always survive, But I’m not a Truer and I’m desperate. That is why I’m going to see Taylor.”
“Bah,” Percy sneered. “Taylor is too young to create a mature guitar. His calluses and blisters are like a baby’s butt. Now tell me what is the problem and I will fix it.”
At first Vincent avoids Percy’s stare, then he sighs and speaks, “Je ne sais. There is something lacking. Mon friend, your guitar lacks magic.”
For Forum
Part 1 of Chapter 1
Part 1 of Chapter 1
What is Magicwood?
In a warm kitchen, in a warm wooden house, in Arizona, a sturdy chair squeaked in protest as a chubby Percy Smith leaned back, sipping sweet red wine, and taking a light breath. “As usual, that was beautiful, Vincent. I especially enjoyed the interlude of the third movement. I could hear the birds chirping and the tree leaves rustling in the wind. Your virtuosity puts me there.”
“Thanks, Percy,” replied the troubadour as the twelve-string’s resonance gracefully faded into the afternoon spring air with the chirping robins and sparrows. “It is truly gratifying to display my artistry to someone that sincerely appreciates it.”
“Percy, I could make you a brilliant guitarist too,” said Richards. “If only you would become my student. You have the ears and passion.”
Percy glared. “Here we go again, I’ve told you before …”
“Yes, yes, I know,” interrupted Richards. “I am forty-seven years old; I am too old to learn anything new. The truth, my luthier friend, is, you’re too lazy and complacent, You’re in a rut. You need some adventure to stimulate you.”
“Adventure! Bah! What good is adventure? Will it feed me? Will it keep me warm? Besides, where there is adventure, there is unknown danger and I want nothing to do with it. I’m a Truer and a good Truer doesn’t need adventure.”
Vincent laughs. “Yes, you are a good Truer, perhaps too good.”
“Now, what about your guitar?” asked Percy. “Is it not perfect like all of my creations?”
“Yes, it is perfect,” replies the troubadour, softly strumming the guitar “The lows are mellow, the octaves are clear and rich and it rings like mademoiselle Shannel’s door chime. Like all of your guitars, it’s perfect. However,” he added as he sat the guitar aside and whisper, “I cannot accept it.”
“What! You do not have the money?” asked Percy, raising a black eyebrow.
“Come, come Percy!” snapped the troubadour, quickly standing and waving his hands. “You hurt my feelings. I am Vincent Rene Richards, the greatest troubadour of the three continents! I am paid in the purest gold. Copper never lines my pockets. Here,” he said, tossing his purse onto the table. “As you can see, it is twice the amount you asked for.”
“Then what is the problem?” asked Percy.
“The problem, mon friend,” answered Richards. “Is my impending poverty and surpassing perfection.”
“Impending poverty and surpassing perfection?” echoed Percy.
“Except for the coin I have shown you, I’m broke,” sighed Richards. “My traveling expenses and extravagant spending will make me a pauper. Unless,” he added. “I give a performance at the coronation of Prince Raymond surpassing perfection. Our, to be king, is demanding, surpassing perfection from everything and everyone, including me. He is promising me he will give me a chateau and a generous pension for my retirement. However, … No performance surpassing perfection, no retirement”
“You’re retiring, Why?” asked Percy.
Sitting down again, Richards picked up the guitar and began finger picking minor chords. “Yes, I’m retiring,” replied the troubadour. “The coronation will be my last public appearance. As you know, Percy, the coronation will be the diamond event of the century. However, after sixty-nine years of performing and traveling, I need to retire, I’m getting too old,”
Then looking up at Percy, he added, “Your guitar is not beyond perfection.”
“What do you expect?” asked Percy. “I offered you a higher bridge to raise the volume. You say no. I offer ladder bracing and you say it’s too punchy and rude. I offer a maple top instead of spruce for brightness and you say no. You claim the bass runs will sound muddy and lose clarity. You want to hear octaves. I give you octaves. I suggested mahogany. You complain it’s too woody. You demanded heavenly. I give you heaven’s harp. I end up making your guitar from one of my metair trees. It’s not like you to be so temperamental.”
“Yes, that is true. Until now, perfection was enough. Now I need surpassing perfection.”
Percy sputters. “You must play my guitar, my masterpiece, Vincent. Business has been turtle slow. The coronation, you, my guitar, will spark new business. Without this crowning achievement, my competitors will have my clientele.”
Richards stared at his plump friend. “Since when, Percy, do you worry about competitors? Something is wrong, what is it?”
Percy turned his head away. Then he stared at the troubadour with woe. “I’m in debt.”
“You’ve been in debt before and paid your way out. What’s the rub?”
“The rub is Lyon the Lender,” breathed Percy.
“And?”
“And I owe him forty thousand francs.”
“Forty thousand francs!” exclaimed Richards. “By the saints, that is a lot of coin. Why so much and for what?”
“My aunt Joenic was very sick with a rare disease. The healers declared the only cure was five very rare and expensive potions. I didn’t have the coin. And the local lenders don’t enjoy lending to Truers.”
“Lyese heard of my plight and made me an offer. He said he would give me fifty thousand francs up front if I agreed to make his mistress a guitar of Teitton Swamp Oak in one month.”
Richards’s mouth dropped open. “Percy just owning a plank of Teitton Swamp Oak is illegal.”
“Yes, I know, but Aunt Joenic was failing every day. I just couldn’t see her suffer and do nothing. To meet his deadline, I had to cancel five contracts and refund ten thousand francs. Swamp Oak extremely hard to work with. I went without sleep for six days, but I completed and delivered it.
“But he was not happy,” added Richards. “Why?”
“He was for three days, Then, two days later, the guitar was infested by Boemeanian Termites. The guitar was beyond repair. He said I should have treated the guitar with Morteen, which is incompatible with Swamp Oak. He wants his money back in three weeks. He vows to burn my house and shop down.”
“I can’t that raise that much money in three weeks. Without your endorsement and a royal gesture from the king, I’m doomed.”
“You can have my pouch of coin, Percy.” said Richards. “I wish I could do more for you, Percy, but as I’ve said, I’m broke.”
“You can help me, Richards, by playing my guitar.”
“Percy, Percy, I can’t do that,” enunciated Richards. “I promised the prince a performance beyond perfection. In all honesty, your guitar is not beyond perfection. You’re a man of integrity. You should understand this. I am truly sorry, Percy.”
Vincent, if you don’t play my guitar, what am I to do?”
Vincent tries to smile. “I don’t know. But you will survive, you are a Truer and Truers always survive, But I’m not a Truer and I’m desperate. That is why I’m going to see Taylor.”
“Bah,” Percy sneered. “Taylor is too young to create a mature guitar. His calluses and blisters are like a baby’s butt. Now tell me what is the problem and I will fix it.”
At first Vincent avoids Percy’s stare, then he sighs and speaks, “Je ne sais. There is something lacking. Mon friend, your guitar lacks magic.”
