Self-Help

A hush descended over the room.  Anxiety rose up in her throat.  The introductions started.  If only she had had time for a drink.  She twisted her wrist toward her and looked down to check the time.  The floral pattern of the commercial-grade hotel carpet turned slowly in a blur below her.

The banquet hall was packed with people starving for her words.  She could see them through the narrow break in the partition; shuffling their chairs and napkins, scurrying at the last minute to return to their seats.  It was the same in every big city, every small town.  She was the reason this desperate bunch was in this ridiculous room and they did not want to miss one delicious bit.

In 57 minutes and 26 seconds, she would convince them that they should start over and the time to do so was now.  They simply needed to throw off their old prescriptions for new rose-colored glasses.  In five easy steps they would envision themselves as freshly-polished vessels, newly empty to receive all the positive pieces her plan had to offer.

Mulling over the program made her nauseous.  What kind of hotel bar does not serve alcohol until four o'clock?  Devon was going to have to handle the helicoptering hoard himself.  There was no way she was going to sit in the lobby and sign books today.  There was an entire case of autographed copies in the van.  In 57 minutes and 26 seconds, she was going to be upstairs in her room, manhandling the mini bar.

The lights dimmed over the room.  Adrenaline pulsed through her body.  The introductions ended.  If only she had had time for a drink.  She shifted her gaze toward the steps on the riser.  "Ladies and gentleman, it is with great honor and exceeding pleasure that I bring to you this afternoon, the one, the only, our Maven of Motivation, Savannah Joy Copeland!"


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This piece is a work of fiction and was inspired by this week's the speakeasy writing prompt.  Click on the button below to read the prompt and the other talented writers who hang out there.  Thanks!