J. Rusolo Ward

“Connect the image to the written word.  Ask yourself ‘what’s a frog got to do with the story?’”

John hated it when she leaned over his shoulder and judged his work.  He was illustrating her stupid book as a favor.  He shook his head.  Who would have thought an artist with his talent would be demeaning himself illustrating a children’s book that would never be published?  He sighed. “What happened, Missy?  You were going to write articles for newspapers.  My paintings were going to hang in museums.  Instead, I make money painting people’s houses.  You’re a librarian.”

“Not everyone is appreciated in their time.  Just because I’m not a world renown journalist yet doesn’t mean anything.”

He snorted.

“And I write the library’s newsletter.  It’s distributed to a thousand people,” she protested.

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Our creative juices still flow.”

He scoffed, “We’re working on a children’s book for library story time.”

“We’re artists.”

“I dedicate so little time to my artistic endeavors I can’t even call painting a hobby.”  His day job was supposed to leave him time and money to do what he loved.

“Why don’t you make the time?  You have the talent.”  Her words echoed his thoughts.

He shrugged.  “Life.”  He looked at her.  At least he wasn’t the only one who had failed.  “We both gave up.”

“That’s not true.  I never gave up.  I am a writer.”

“This project?”  He gestured to the book.

“This is to get you back in the game.  I’ve never left.  Lately, I’ve had a few printed editorials.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I was offered a job with a Boston magazine.  I’m taking it.”

He decided he hated her.  Some people had all the luck.

“I created my destiny.  You can do it, too.”

But could he?