Printed from WriteWords -

The Pen Is Mightier Than The Sword

by  Phelim

Posted: Thursday, May 13, 2004
Word Count: 462
Summary: A crime based flash fiction story. Editted since its first posting.

The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

It all started with that question. The question that all writers dread. The question that everyone thinks is original and that we do not mind talking about it. Such a simple question, but one that has caused me so much trouble.

What's worse, I ruined my best fountain pen. The pen I've always used to work with. None of this pc, Mac, word processor stuff for me. No, a decent pad of paper and my favourite fountain pen.

I had nothing against the man but he wasn't the first to ask it at the party. Every time I declared myself to be a writer that question came, with its gloss of false interest. Then the ideas for plots. How do you think of plots, are clocks important for alibis. I tried once to say that I wrote romance rather than crime, but got loads of embarrassing questions about sex. I'm not a therapist you know.

And then people would ask my name. “Your not. The one who wrote that book?” I hate that book. I hate that character with his know it all ways and mismatched clothes. I suppose I should have gone home and poisoned him off. Only then people would have wanted me to resurrect him like Conan Doyle did to Holmes.

I had my pen in my hand. People had been warned that I would be there, so they brought their books along. How underhand to organise a book signing without giving me a fee. Soon there was a queue of them. All excited about meeting me. How they were a great fan. How did I think of my plots. And that question.

I suppose I had a brain storm. Writing psychological fiction I must have read about them. But when he asked it I snapped. The fact that his tie was out of date and an offensive colour may have been a factor, that and his bad breath. Any way I was provoked.

I struck a blow. Having read up on pathology and human biology I must have subconsciously gone for a vital spot. But when I struck that blow I did so for writers every where.

If he hadn't asked the question he would be alive now. I never knew there was something in ink that stopped blood clotting. If he hadn't asked the question I would still have my fountain pen. If he hadn't asked the question I would not be experiencing what goes on after the book is finished, what happens to those who-done-it after they have been caught.

But I'll tell you this. People won't be saying “Oh you're a writer. Are you writing anything at the moment?” too soon. And if they do – watch out.