As instructed, not one writer told the other what she was requested to bring.
On Halloween night, a round iron pot sat in the center of the library conference table where the writers met once a week. Joellen splashed in two quarts of Diet Coke. Danielle measured and added a tablespoon of vinegar.
Laura stirred in a cup of brown sugar while Denise slowly, hesitantly, added two dashes of hot sauce. Rolling her eyes, being the least compliant of the students, Roxanne poured in a cup of grapefruit juice as Judy added a pint of orange sherbet.
Samantha, the writing instructor, didn’t enter the room until the sherbet plopped in. She wore a pointed fuchsia hat and a long fitted purple dress with a silky red scarf wrapped around her shoulders. With a sanguine smile, Samantha revealed her ingredient – a silver pen engraved with words no one could read.
As she threw in the writing instrument, Samantha intoned: “Make their tongues stop, their fingers loose. Words created with a boost.”
Poof! Steam streamed out of the pot with a swirl that encircled each one of the writers.
Samantha pulled out six sipping cups from her purse, dipped a cup into the potion for each of her students, and warned them: “Make sure your notebooks are empty and waiting.” Joellen, Danielle, Laura, Denise, Roxanne and Judy each showed off their blue-lined white paper, and then accepted the cup Samantha offered.
“The potion of creative power is obtainable only to those who desire. A sip is safe, but the power of words can’t be restrained. To your writing health!” Samantha nodded, and each of her students drank.
“That was surprisingly good,” Roxanne began to say, but she gagged a bit and then picked up her pen, and wrote along with her fellow students with a ferocious fury seen only in tornadoes, hurricanes, and writers who dared drink the potion of literary possibilities.