Once upon a time there was a ship owner. His ship wasn't very big, and most of the time he was happy to let it drift from one port to the next. From time to time he would find another ship owner to sail with. This would continue for a while, a few days, weeks or months. But eventually they would part ways and the ship owner would be lonely again. She was the owner of a beautiful, ornate ship, making its way along the coast. She cut through the water with a slow, polite grace. She preferred to be at sea or sheltering in small inlets, rather than docking at port and dealing with the busy streets that came with them. It was a Wednesday when he first saw her. She was meandering lazily under a blue sky. She bore to starboard. She turned to port. She only had the main sail unfurled and looked reluctant to continue on towards her destination. She looked content. The ship owner brought his vessel alongside hers. Silently they moved with a single, undetermined destination. At first the only communication the two ship owners had with each other was a quiet smile and wave when both were at the helm. After a few days they stood at the railing and discussed the conditions. After a week she had come aboard his ship and eaten dinner on his deck under a starlit sky. Two years passed. The ship owners have become best friends. They aren't the best sailors, but together they make better progress than they would on their own. They are still there, sailing from port to port. They still smile and wave. They still talk about the conditions. From time to time they have dinner on each other's ships. Sometimes they even tie their ship to the other to keep from getting separated by storms and currents. I don't like writing anymore. It makes me feel sad. I want to write things the way I want them to be. Sometimes that means writing fiction. If I continued writing the story of the ship owner then I would have to choose between what is and what I want. What I want is for the two ship owners to buy a ship together and live happily sailing from port to port. What is... I don't know yet. But it is definitely more complicated than just that. Not all prose is fiction, but all of my prose needs some.
