This will bore almost everyone -- trust me. You do not want to read this story. There is no action, not in the traditional sense. You have been warned. It is posted here because I think there is one person here who might understand it.
Friendship cast a long shadow that spanned across the pages of fiction, penetrating the secret truths of two writers who shared the intimacy of words.
Writing had become a chore for the first friend. It was a near impossibility for the second. The former, fearing scrutiny for past confessions, did not want to publish again. His readers and critics might misinterpret his meanings, and it was true that in the past he was indeed guilty of these offenses. But as such passions ebbed, he again wanted to write, to focus on the idea of experience. But would his readers see the difference between condemnation and understanding? He had learned the difference, but he did not want to offend anyone.
The latter, could not even find the time to write. The practical world surrounded her: the demands of a career, wife, and mother. She found, under these limitations, that it was nearly impossible to write what the unique voices in her head spoke, and it was equally difficult to continually glance over her shoulder, worrying who might be reading, judging, and disapproving.
Yet they fostered their kinship of words, one that bore its fruit in understanding. While his writing may not have inspired her, his emotional style did. She could find electricity in his passion, in his anger, and in his outlandish literary creations. For though she may not have loved his prose, she did his mental acuity.
He adored her writing: the intricacies of her plots, and the subtlety of her prose. She had command of her premise, of the action, and her character's spoke in realistic voices.
But it was more than just a mutual respect for each others prose. Reading was a portal to their innermost thoughts, and as friends, that is what meant most of all.
So writing was the bridge they crossed, hoping to meet halfway; one step removed from his fantasy, one step from her reality. And after many years, they still found a way to meet on that bridge.
It is not surprising then, that they sometimes wrote about bridges. But they approached them differently. A bridge, to her, was a place to jump, or an obstacle that could not be crossed. To him, a bridge was a structure that took away happiness, but his characters never jumped into the icy waters below, no, his got revenge by destroyed those bridges.
And that was a major difference between the two: her words were often somber, characters lost in their own lives, sometimes with no freewill. His, however, struck out with aggression. Her characters would gloss over emotions, burying them deep beneath their consciousness. His screamed until they could be heard or until they had given up caring. But each person's writing was predominately based on one thing: a sense that nothing ever worked.
But their cynicism was different. Though his pessimism seemed more visceral, hers went far deeper. He used broad strokes to define emotional flaws. They were sometimes comical, but were almost always detached. His characters screamed because they felt pain, they moaned and bemoaned, wanting to smash. It was only later that they felt remorse.
But her's drew inward. They took their experiences and submerged them. They would show signs of pain, but no more, their stoicism progressed until one day, it over-flowed and they stood on that bridge, with a sense of freedom, ready to leap. Her characters died to ease the pain. His eccentrics extinguished themselves in attempts to destroy it -- their martyrdom against emotional indifference.
So the two built a bridge between them. A structure that no one jumped from, one that neither attempted to destroy. A bridge with free access, one that would never span anything but the mutual interests that flowed beneath them. It was a bridge built on many things, like: love, anger, respect, fear, conviction and loyalty. It was a bridge built to last. There was not a faulty truss within its span. They made sure of that when they built it above their reciprocal hopes and dreams.
Author notes
Just fiction, nothing more.
In the story: "Nothing ever works." is a quote that the she in the story often uses. 
In a list
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Comments
1 - 27 of 27
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A Most endearing tale ...
and from your viewpoint ... where the river bends, I suppose that you never ventured any further downstream ... there, at the confluence of more mighty rivers, please take note, there are more bridges that cross at various points. Ole' and okay ... I was just viewing your tale from a personal point of view and fiction or not, one bridge will never hold all the traffic that has to get from one side to the other 
jy
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It may be true that nothing ever works, but your story works in my mind. 
A poet friend is good to have because they understand your lines, or at least pretend they do. As for bridges, they scare me because looking down freaks me out. I do like the saying, "Don't cross your bridge until you come to it," though. And I like your story very much, especially the idea of "reciprocal hopes and dreams," because if the world shared dreams we would stop trying to steal them from each other. 
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"because if the world shared dreams we would stop trying to steal them from each other."
You always find the right phrase, right meaning...you are scary good that way!
Thanks!
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I found this very touching. Crossings, bridges, so much easier to approach fortified with acceptance, understanding, and mutual respect walking side by side.
No funnies from me on this one. I don't want to muck it up.
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Nothing to muck up, just too old friends who know who they are.
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No shenanigans
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Oh you mean from me? No, I was being nice to you. I can be nice sometimes.
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and no, I am a gentleman.
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That's not what I meant but okay...
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"...a bridge built to last."
What better for writers to imagine than
a connection that would last...
When setting the scenario, of course,
program it to last.
Fiction to reality, perhaps. -
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She and I have writing in common, plus a similar personality. I am not "Yemassee" the outlandish guy he seems to be. But you know that. Thanks!
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The characters appear on the stage
acting the parts.
Lucky are we who can see behind the actor
to find the real warmth of the person inside! -
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Very true. Once folk get to know me, they see the boring side...sadly, lol
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Awe, come on!!!!!!
In all honesty to yourself,
you know the word is "intriguing"
rather than the one you used.
Shades of W and his "misunderestimating!" -
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It's hard to keep being intriguing when all you know is sports, literature and how good food tastes, lol
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Hey--how are the fantasy Flamingos?
Article in local paper about a couple
guys here who managed to win between
them 100K for their winning efforts in
fantasy football! -
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I'm still in first place. At least as of yesterday. Haven't checked today.
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The writer asked the guys about luck to strategy
proportion. You must have picked great players---
research or insinct? More experienced guys or
more younger ones????
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Even with all the differences, there are still so many similarities between the two writers.
I liked how each sees the bridge, in more always than the obvious, they have actually the same reason for being there. Two excellent writers...I wonder how a story written by the two together would read.
I agree with nOva, this isn't boring at all
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Actually I suggested a collaboration, she was silent on the subject, lol
Ours were good though, I think. Thanks Mariza.
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from your front page--
"The second sexiest thing any woman ever said to me was, "You just sit there and I'll bring you a Moxie."
Seems this came up in one of your stories,
such a simple, but meaningful offer!
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rich
Who said this was supposed to be boring? That's probably the last word i'd use to describe the "sketch". It was an interesting and intriguing read, lively in its own unique way. You've colored in these two writers so richely, as if they were not "just fiction". Like the way you used the different descriptions of their writing to bring out and show who they are as a person, their relationship. And the bridge ending was pretty cool too I enjoyed this I'm glad i ignored your warning at the top 
~nOva with the big O
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Thank you, that is a lovely comment!
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Boring... NOT!! I was fascinated with the insight of this piece, Yem. I felt compelled to keep reading.
We often build bridges without realizing it, sometimes readily crossed, sometimes feared for what may lie on the other end, sometimes making it only partway across before being sent back to where we started.
I have had series of dreams about bridges and attempts to cross them, never quite making it. They were always during times of contemplated change in my life and I feel they meant something prophetic. (Prophetic dreams are the only ones I ever recall)
But I'm geting off the subject here... Suffice to say that your story is well written, very interesting and definetly not boring
Dee
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Thank you, that was a nice comment. I found some typos and awkward areas. I always do. Thank you for reading it. I'm surprised you found it. I didn't post it as new. I used a placeholder I had.
I have a friend here, I like her fiction, I don't think she likes mine but I had to make believe for fiction's sake.
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