***************For a few days in early November, I noticed this beetle in the room where I write. He flew clumsily and climbed from one object on the table to another, seemingly indifferent to my pursuit of the latest, greatest novel.
Without so much as a howdy, he alit on my laptop. He made his way to the keyboard while I sat back and observed. Go for it, I thought. Perhaps, he had something to contribute, a means to advance my cause. I sensed he was here for a purpose.
He looked things over. I waited for a sentence or two from his perspective, or a catchy phrase or even a single meaningful word.
Without adding so much as an exclamation point, apostrophe or semi-colon to my most magnificent manuscript, he abruptly and rudely, flew off, much as he'd come. Such is life.
In my mind, I'm nearly a novelist, yet to my recent roommate, I was merely a novelty.