A story with no title

It was a typical summer morning.

A heavy thump on the outside of the house at 4:55 am was the signal that the day had started.  The paper carrier delivered my copy of The Wall Street Journal as regular as the clock.

The thump woke up Jan, who stretched and sat up on the side of the bed, trying to get her senses working.  Soon she had gotten up and went into the bathroom.

I laid there, in the bed, still in that dreamy state – not asleep and not quite awake.   It’s at that  stage, my mind begins to put forth my coming day into some kind of calendar.  It’s also at that time, that I usually start thinking about my next story.  It  comes to me so clear, that if I had my computer right there, I could write the whole story down.

But, by the time Jan is finished and the bathroom is left to me, those thoughts have partly disappeared and all I’m left with is an outline of a story and a few random lines that will make the story – stunning.

I try not to take much time getting up and getting dressed.  I want to get down the hall to my office and get the words down before my mind loses them.  I pour myself a cup of coffee and go into my office – all the time trying to remember all of that great prose I had discovered in my brain just a few minutes earlier.

By the time I sit down to my computer and start writing –  –  it’s all gone.