End of Year

Sitting at his desk in his chamber The Scribe watched the sway of the candle flame, his eyes had settled on the light in its sconce some time ago as he mused over the happenings of the last year.
There had been quite a few changes, some big, some small and some still to come in the approaching year. The trophies hanging on his wall were testament to some of the bigger physical changes, going from the occasional fitness session to a concentrated training regime culminating in being able to run in 10 and 21k events without coming last.
He had travelled to locations that he had only dreamed of visiting previously and now looked forward to returning, so he could add more to the scribblings he had started there. There was the possibility of yet more new locations to visit in the coming year that could lead The Scribe and his characters into yet more adventures.
But still he was dissatisfied with his characters progress through the year, even now he could feel them inside him, jostling to get out and onto the pages. In his mind he had them in so many different scenarios that he was at a loss how to join it all together. He had the main structure of a story, but every day brought so many new twists and plot changes for the characters that he was at a loss to keep track of them.
He had however, found new ways to make his note taking easier, whether it was sat at his desk in work or stood at a bar in some exotic location, he could collect his thoughts and ideas in one place where he could bring them all together later. His old faithful blue notebook would still accompany him on his travels, its pages already heavy with plot ideas and character situations, inspired by the locations The Scribe had visited (mostly bars!). He also felt it added a certain aura of mystery to him as he sat at a bar dashing down the latest observation. But then to everyone else he probably looked like someone writing in a notebook and not worthy of a second glance, it certainly had not gained him any free drinks!
He chuckled to himself as the next thought came to him; maybe he was in a mid-life crisis, but he had studied for and passed the motorbike theory test, taking the opportunity to sit the exam while on a brief visit to London. It had been the morning after the departments annual “cultural” visit to the capital, during which a large dose of culture had been ‘absorbed’. He had been amazingly clear headed and a short 40 minutes had seen him answer 50 multiple choice questions followed by 14 videos to identify the “hazards” within them.
The candle flame guttered as it fought to find more fuel from the depleting wax reserves, stirring The Scribe from his revere and sending him off to brew another coffee.

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