Write What You Know

What to write? thought the landlord, looking down at the blank sheet. He frowned slightly as he clasped his hands in front of his face, racking his brains for an idea.

I’ve always heard that you should write what you know, he thought. The landlord brought his pencil up nibble on the eraser. He found that always helped him think. He glanced around the dark, gloomy room, hoping to find some inspiration.

I could write about what happened to Mrs. Marker last month, thought the landlord. He brought the point of his pencil to the white sheet and scribbled some notes.

Yes, that might be a good idea, thought the landlord jovially. That was an interesting month. Vampires have such interesting lives. I’ll never get used to someone cutting up a vampire with nothing more than a fruit knife. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. The things people will do for immortality. The landlord looked up from his paper, smiling a bit.

Or what about that strange man with the scarf from last Wednesday? Thought the landlord. He quickly jotted down some words below his old notes. Very strange man. I still don’t know how he hid so many things in his pockets. Seemed a pleasant sort, though, just a bit obsessed with his candy, among other things.

The landlord considered his notes so far, before another idea hit him.

Oh, what about Mr. N’s ‘pest control’ problem? He nodded slowly, hastily taking down writing some more notes. I still don’t know where that otherworldly portal came from. At least we got rid of the pests though. Nasty creatures. They’re just so… wrong. Can’t describe them properly. It’s enough to drive a person mad, really. Well, at least Mr. N had a tome of eldritch lore lying around.

He glanced at the now filled-up sheet, before another idea dawned on him.

No, wait. There’s still that incident with the dragon in the basement. The landlord flipped the paper over and wrote on that side, Though, that hasn’t happened yet. Maybe I should wait for it to happen first. Satisfied, the landlord sat back down, now thinking about how to make all the different stories come together. His ears perked up at the tinkle of the bell as the door swung open.

In walked his lodgers: Mrs. Marker and her much taller, blonde niece (they honestly didn’t look very similar to one another, when anyone thought about it); Mr. N, their neighbor from down the hall, his many eyes staring at everything around the room simultaneously, his many mouths snarling and nipping at everything in reach, and his tentacles gripping the floor, leaving a trail of slime as he pulled himself forward; and finally, Rupert, limping along on his good right leg, his shattered left leg trailing behind him as his head lolled from its broken neck.

“Good afternoon Mr. Landlord,” said Mrs. Marker. Landlord and tenants exchanged ‘Good afternoon’s’ all around.

“What’s that you have there?” asked Mrs. Marker’s niece, in her usual direct way.

“Oh, just some notes for a story I thought of writing,” answered the landlord.

“Oh, what about?” said Rupert, his head looking at the landlord from a 90-degree angle.

“About you, actually,” replied the landlord. At his answer, the lodgers looked at him interestedly.

“Grrafml shrrp fllrgthn?” said Mr. N in a low growl, his voice echoing as all his mouths spoke in unison.

“Oh, of course,” said the landlord as he handed his notes over to the lodgers. They all crowded around the paper, looking excitedly at first, then their faces darkened a bit (except for Mr. N, though, his mouths just stopped growling at everything).

“Is something wrong?” asked the landlord anxiously.

“Well,” said Mrs. Marker sadly, “I don’t think I’m very comfortable with having that story told.”

“Yeah, I’d kinda like to forget about that week,” added her niece, her eyes shifting uncomfortably.

“Me too,” said Rupert, “I was rather hoping to buy that dragon. I really thought it could work out, you know?

“Vnaarkrmsh stylb kreng,” said Mr. N, a sheepish ‘look’ in the eyes the landlord could see. The landlord hung his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said gloomily, “You’re right, this is a bad idea. That couldn’t have been a good experience, Mrs. Marker. You as well, Miss. I’m sorry to you too, Rupert. I suppose you should have a chance with that dragon. And Mr. N, you as well! I should have thought about keeping your books a secret.”

“It’s alright,” said Mrs. Marker, putting a comforting hand on the landlord’s arm.

“Yeah, you haven’t made your story yet, so it’s okay,” added her niece. Rupert and Mr. N added their own opinions, all reassuring the gloomy landlord.

“Thank you, everyone,” said the landlord, “But I still don’t have anything to write.”

“What if you wrote about something else?” suggested Rupert. “Fantasy, for example.”

“Hmmm, that sounds like a good idea,” agreed the landlord. “How about one about an unlucky everyman in high school who meets a nice girl?”

“That sounds cool,” said Mrs. Marker’s niece. “Never heard one like that before.”

“Mssshrn kthuln rbast,” said Mr. N, his eyes blinking to punctuate his ‘words.’

“Mr. N’s right,” answered Mrs. Marker with a smile, “Let us have a look later, alright?”

“Oh, I will,” answered the narrator, all smiles at his new project. “Thank you, everyone!”