Frank Martin glares at his computer display, willing the words jumbled in his head to leap onto the screen. No such luck.

  April, his wife, enters carrying a load of folded laundry. She crosses to the linen closet, and begins arranging the sheets and towels by size and color. Frank scrunches his face and returns his attention to the computer screen. Damn writer's block.

  "April?" Frank calls. "Which sounds better...'He walked through the many rows of geraniums' or 'he strolled through the many rows of geraniums'? I know the world 'strolled' has a greater impact...Somewhat. It sounds more...I don't know. The idea is not to be forceful or impactful. The character in question is rather morose and brooding. To say, 'he strolled' implies a more confident state of mind. It sounds as if he is going to war or heading for a private meeting of a powerful board of trustees. But he's not. He's just...Walking through a garden. Thinking all of these really bad and horrible things. Which word sounds more appropriate to you?"

  April lowers her gigantic pile of towels to a nearby table. She places one hand on her hip and smirks.

  "Frank...Why do you ask questions you've already decided the answer to? You just want me to agree with you, so you can continue pounding away on those horrid keys. Only to delete the same sentences over and over. Why do you do this to yourself? Go outside. Try strolling in your own garden. The experts say you should only struggle with a problem for a few minutes at a time. If you can't find the solution...Do something else for a little while. Eventually, the solution will come to you. Although, in this case...I think you already know the solution. Write from your heart. It's your story, Frank."

  Frank heaves a loud sigh and puts his computer into hibernate mode. He offers April a wide grin and opens his arms, beckoning her to come to him. April plops down on his lap with a chuckle.

  "What's wrong?" April says, toying with the hair around Frank's ear.

  "Nothing. I mean, everything. I just can't write anymore. It's like my brain has taken an extended vacation. I feel drained just looking at the screen."

  "Maybe it's time you did take a break, Frank," April replies. "You've been running yourself ragged for months. I need some more inspiration for my new piece. Why don't we go see the new art exhibit in town? You did say you wanted to go last week. There's no time like the present."

  "You're right, April. I did say I wanted to see that new exhibit. A lot of great artists are being showcased there. And it may even help me with my writer's block. It's not a bad idea."

  "Let me finish putting up the laundry and I'll get ready. Don't you dare turn that computer back on, Frank. No more work until you've given your brain a chance to relax and reboot."

  April removes her slight bulk from Frank's lap and returns to her task of sorting laundry into the linen closet. On the other side of the room, Frank stares at the darkened screen of his computer.

  "Frank! Don't do it! Up! Go take a walk in the garden. Drink an energy drink. Run ten laps. Stand on your head. Do something. Anything but stare at that darn screen. Up! Up! Up! Come on!"

  Frank scrunches up his face for the second time and slinks out of his chair. A walk...No, a stroll in the garden sounds like a plan.

  Stolen story; please report.

  ====================================

  "Oh. Now, isn't that interesting?" April says, leaning close to the portrait in question.

  The portrait on the wall is of a very large circus tent. In the center of the tent's front flap a large purple whirlpool blocks the entire entrance.

  "Very strange. Looks like someone was either very happy when they painted this...Or very intoxicated," Frank says with a wry laugh.

  "Or both," April quips. "It is interesting though. I like the shade of purple they used. I don't believe I've ever seen that shade used in a painting of this kind. It really stands out. And the silhouette in the background. I can't tell if it's a man or a woman. Very eerie. Very mysterious. Almost makes me want to climb inside to find out."

  "You know...That gives me an idea," Frank exclaims, excitement in his voice.

  "Uh, oh. What sort of an idea, Frank?" April questions, suspicion altering her usually placid countenance.

  "An idea for a story," Frank states with a wide grin.

  "Oh no, Frank! The whole idea of coming to this exhibit was to help you flesh out ideas for your current story. Not fill your brain with crap about whole new ones. Come on. Let's go look at some more paintings."

  "No, April...I'm serious. I really do think I'm onto a really great storyline. A mysterious circus tent in the middle of..."

  "Frank, enough. Move it. Now!"

  April walks behind Frank and playfully shoves him away from the portrait of the circus tent. Frank glances back over his shoulder and sighs.

  =====================================

  Frank is behind the wheel of the car when they leave the exhibit and head for home. He spends much of the time daydreaming about plotlines and character backgrounds. He also spends just as much time tearing down those same plotlines. April watches him from the passenger seat. Every once in a while, she smiles and shakes her head. Same old Frank. A man full of dreams.

  April is nearly thrown into the dashboard when Frank slams on the brakes. She peers over at him with a worried expression.

  "Frank, what is it? What's wrong? Did we almost hit something?"

  "No," Frank says simply.

  "Then, what? Why did you slam on the brakes like that?"

  Frank does not speak. He only points. Several meters away, in what used to be the McCarthy family wheat fields, a giant circus tent sits silent and still. The same circus tent from the art gallery. Or, at least, Frank believes it to be the same tent.

  "Oh, Frank! Wow! When did the McCarthy's go into show business? And how did we miss that in broad daylight? Maybe that's why it seemed so interesting and familiar? We'd seen it before."

  "No. That wasn't there, April," Frank protests. "I remember seeing the McCarthy's big old tractor sitting right there. I even made a mental joke about it. That tent...Was not there."

  "That was over four hours ago, Frank. Maybe Mr. McCarthy moved the tractor? That tent doesn't look too complicated to assemble. They could have done it during the time we were at the gallery or in the restaurant. Maybe there's a circus opening soon? The portrait at the art exhibit could just be some fancy advertising."

  "Could be. But...I want to see it up close. I want to see if it's the same tent. In this light, it looks the same. Could not be."

  "Frank, what does it matter? It's just a circus tent?"

  "A tent that is going to feature in my next novella. Come on, April. Let's have some fun. This little outing was your idea. Let's go."

  Easing the car into Mr. McCarthy's wheat field, Frank shuts off the engine. He climbs out and goes around to April's side of the car. Once April is out of the car and her door is secured, Frank ushers her across the field. Under cover of the approaching darkness, they descend on the circus tent, giggling like schoolchildren the entire time.

  To be continued...........