The courtship is slow. He approaches,...

Writing Exercise - Beethoven 0p.110 for Piano

I'm not really sure where this story came from - somehow I began with the image of a couple, and then the tone of their relationship followed the music. But again, not sure where the image of the couple came from, as the music begins slowly, certainly, and delicately, but not necessarily romantically.

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The courtship is slow. He approaches, she daintily refuses. He backs off, she smiles and signals that it was just a ruse. And so their relationship begins. At first it is mostly social - they meet for picnics, go out for drinks, go and see a movie together. But as they get to know each other more and more, they become more comfortable with each other. They open up, they grow closer. When they wake up it is wishing that they were in each others arms.

When they move in together, their friends smile knowingly. "This is it," the girls whisper to themselves. "You can see how much she has blossomed with him. She's so much more confident now! She's so much more relaxed!"

Over beers, the men don't really talk about the move - they simply wink knowingly and mutter "Sure, he's gone a bit soft with her, but it's only a matter of time till he comes back to us".

They buy a puppy. it is a floppy creature that falls all over itself - its paws too big for its body. it is a mongrel, which he is unsure of but she loves, squealing at every antict that the puppy does. The puppy grows into a dog, and they recognise that their small apartment doesnt have room for it. so the make the move, intertwining their lives closer together as they sign both their names to a mortgage and move out into the suburbs, into a house with a large lawn, a swimming pool, a barbeque that they can invite their friends around to enjoy. as the dog lolls in the sunlight, they know that they have made the right choice.

things don't go well though, because his job is in trouble. he didn't have a problem when they were both working, but now he feels like a kept man. he starts drinking more, walking the dog less, making love less, until one day she comes home early to surprise him and finds him with not another woman, but passed out on a poolside chair at 1030 in the morning, the dog lapping up spilled beer beside him.

The fight is huge. he is wasting his life, wasting her time, killing the dog. their words are quick, their actions sharp, and he storms out of the house to a friends place. the friend comes the next day, apologetic, and gathers up a few of the necessary things - a toothbrush, and some underwear.

she is unsure what this means. did he leave for good? are they over? she throws herself into her work, into walking the dog when she is home, into cleaning the house compulsively, preserving everything that he left behind. she is afraid to pack up his things, because what would that mean if he came back?

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And that is all I had time for! What a cliffhanger!

I have come to realize that when I'm freewriting like this I tend to write in first person, which is interesting, as this is a style that I tend to steer away form both in my own writing and in the books that I read. Perhaps it is the immediacy of free writing that steers me like this?