Paperweight

In today's story, Paperweight, Jane tries to pick up a piece of paper

Today's prompt was inspired by a paperweight we made during a recent trip to Newport, RI. If you have a suggestion for a writing prompt, please let us know! 

More about Susan Quilty

Susan Quilty mainly writes novels, including two standalone novels and her YA series: The Psychic Traveler Society.  Susan's short stories for Freely Written are created during quick writing breaks and shared as a way to let go of perfection and encourage writing for fun.

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Transcript

Below is the transcript for Season 1, Episode 164 of Freely Written, a podcast by author Susan Quilty:

Welcome to Freely Written, where a simple prompt leads to a little unplanned fiction.  

[Light piano music]

Hi, friends! I’m Susan Quilty, and today’s prompt is Paperweight.

During a recent trip to Newport, RI, Peter and I made a paperweight at Thames Glass. It was our first attempt at handblown glass making, and it was tremendously fun. Using tongs to twist and pull the molten glass like taffy was wild, and the resulting paperweight is beautiful! If you’re ever in Newport, I highly recommend Thames Glass.

Now that we’re back, and I needed a writing prompt, Paperweight, was the first word that came to mind. Although I’ll try not to write about our glass-making experience and come up with something more creative. 

That’s the beauty of free-writing: you can write whatever you want and be surprised at where your imagination takes you. If you’re new to Freely Written, my process is simple. I sit down with a prompt and write whatever might come to mind, with no planning and very little editing. Then, I record the story and share it with you. 

Here’s what came up today:

Paperweight

Jane stood outside the curtain, beside the chair where she was asked to wait. She had been sitting… until the waiting began to fray her nerves. She had nothing to be nervous about, she told herself. This test was a given as far as she was concerned. She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d decided to try it at all. Except that the other women at church had been talking about it, and they’d all agreed that it would be easy for Jane. 

It would be easy, Jane told herself. Yet she hadn’t told anyone that she had made an appointment for the test. It would be her secret. Until the next time the topic came up, and she would breezily admit that she had gone—out of curiosity—and, yes, it had been easy. 

Of course, she would show some surprise at how easy it had been. She’d had no expectations at all. Just curiosity. She’d wanted to see what the fuss was about for herself. And it didn’t mean anything really. Not anything that mattered. 

The church hadn’t taken a stand on this test one way or the other. There were some who didn’t like the sound of it. Just as they didn’t like the sound of any other religion or spirituality that was not their own. But this test claimed not to be rooted in a specific religion. In fact, it wasn’t meant to be a test at all. It was a… what did they call it? It was an experience. A meditation on personal reflection. There would be no audience or public report. Only the observation of the person who administered the test. Or… the experience, Jane corrected herself. 

As Jane’s hands began to fidget in anticipation, the curtain parted, and a short man walked out. There was a serene look to his face. A transcendent calm had left his eyes shiny and his face relaxed, except for a hint of a secret smile around his thin lips. 

The man walked past Jane as if she weren’t there at all. When a woman at the desk stood to greet him, Jane strained to hear their murmured conversation. She couldn’t make out a word, just a contented lilt that led Jane to believe the man had done well. 

A soft voice called for Jane to enter. She hesitated for only a moment before squaring her shoulders and walking into the mysterious room. 

Jane knew the room would be small. And plain. She’d heard descriptions from the other women at church. While it was a fairly small room, it felt large due to its near emptiness. There were two objects and one person in the room. A tall woman wearing a flowing robe colored gray like a mourning dove. A small wooden table. And a piece of plain paper on the table. 

The robed woman greeted Jane without offering her name or asking for an introduction. She had a pleasant, friendly smile and warm, brown eyes. Her hair was short, and her nails were plain ovals. She wore little makeup, if any, yet her face glowed with a gentle beauty. 

“Do you know why you are here?” the woman asked simply. 

“Yes,” Jane said, “to pick up the paper.”

The woman’s smile spread softly. 

“What do you know about this paper?”

Jane shifted her feet, then forced her twined hands to release by her sides. 

“It’s a special paper that is said to change weight depending on who picks it up.”

“This is not a piece of paper,” the woman replied. “This is a special paperweight. It looks like a piece of paper, but it takes on the weight of insecurity. For people who are completely at ease with themselves, it may feel like lifting a single sheet of newsprint or a heavy cardstock. 

“For those who may have more to learn about themselves, it may feel like lifting a book… or a brick… or an iron bar. Some may not be able to lift it at all.”

Jane looked at the paper skeptically. It looked like a sheet of plain white paper, the kind she would load into the printer at work. She could not imagine it being as heavy as a book or a piece of metal. Yet the women at work had marveled over their own experiences. They had claimed it felt like a dictionary, a brick, or even as if it were glued to the table before it finally came free.

The woman asked if Jane had any questions. 

Jane studied the paper. It was positioned on a raised portion of the table with two diagonal corners free, allowing a place to lift with each hand. Jane touched the paper tentatively. It had a dry, matte feel, like the notecards she used to record her recipes. She slid her fingers under each of the free corners, feeling a trill of excitement and doubt. She lifted… and the paper didn’t move. 

Jane’s eyes flew to the robed woman’s face, but her expression was unreadable. Jane laughed softly, under her breath, then tried again. The paper wouldn’t move. It wasn’t just heavy. It was solidly attached to the table. Not even the free corners would lift or bend as Jane tugged. 

“It’s a trick,” Jane said after a few attempts. 

The woman tilted her head and said, “Permit me?”

Jane stepped back, watching closely as the woman lifted the paper, then set it back in place.

“I’m a good person!” Jane sputtered without thought. 

“This isn’t about being good or bad,” the woman told her gently. “It’s about knowing and accepting yourself.”

“I know myself!” Jane insisted. “I know I’m a good person. I go to church. I give to charity. I pay my taxes. I put my grocery cart back in the… cart corral. Everyone said this would be easy for me. There’s nothing for me to be… insecure about.”

The woman listened patiently. When it was clear Jane had nothing more to say, the woman asked, “Do you accept help from others?”

“What?” Jane shook her head, trying to make sense of the question. “I help others,” she clarified. “I don’t need anyone’s help. I’m very independent.”

“Maybe that’s where you begin,” the woman suggested, gesturing toward the curtain. “And then you can try again.”

“What? But… I…” Jane reached for the paper again. The woman waited as Jane struggled and failed to lift it for a solid minute. 

“How many close friends do you have?” the woman asked when Jane gave up again. 

“What? I don’t know… I talk to people at church and at work. I stay in touch with my sister from time to time.” She trailed off, then defiantly added, “I have friends!”

“I’m sure you do,” the woman agreed. “Are you close to them? Do you go to them with your problems? Do they take care of you when you are in need?”

“I… I’m the one who takes care of them,” Jane argued. “I’m the one who has it all together. I cover everyone’s shifts when they go on vacation. I arrange for meals when someone is ill or grieving. I collect the money for office gifts and get everyone to sign the endless cards…”

Jane felt her hands clenching and heard her voice shaking. 

I’m a good person, she repeated silently. But she didn’t feel good about her thoughts. She felt angry that she was always the responsible one. Angry that no one took care of her. And she felt ashamed for wanting that. She was stronger than that. She didn’t need anyone. 

“We all need other people,” the robed woman told Jane softly. “We all need to feel cared for. Needing help is not a weakness. It’s a way to bond with our true friends.”

Jane shrugged, looking down at her feet. Tears had begun to well in her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away. 

“Maybe I don’t have friends,” she mumbled, feeling something crack open in her heart. “Maybe I’m lonely.” 

“Do you want to hear a secret for making friends?” the woman asked with warmth in her voice. “Trying to be perfect never works. People are more comfortable with imperfect people. There’s strength in being vulnerable.”

Jane wanted to argue. She’d heard that advice before and never believed it. But somehow, the woman’s words were releasing some of the tension in her body.

“Is that what you say to everyone?” Jane asked, still looking for signs of a trick.

“No,” the woman answered easily. “I listen and offer suggestions that may or may not work.”

“And now I can lift the paper?” Jane rolled her eyes like a teenager, but the woman only laughed.

“Probably not. But you’re welcome to try again.”

Jane eyed her doubtfully, sure that if she couldn’t lift it when she felt confident, she wouldn’t be able to lift it after her foolish tears. 

Yet when Jane slid her hands under the paper, she felt one corner lift just a little bit. 

“Did you see that?” she demanded, then moved both hands to one corner and tried again. “I’m not perfect,” she told the paper. “I’m lonely. I want friends, real friends…” 

The paper rocked slightly, one corner beginning to pull free from the table. 

“And that’s okay,” Jane added. She felt her fingers weaken against the weight of the paper, but she also felt a small, definite lift. 

“I do need people,” Jane whispered, letting the tears fall freely as she released the paperweight.

She stared at the paper until her tears stopped, then looked at the woman with wide eyes.

“I wasn’t going to tell anyone about coming here,” she admitted, “unless I lifted it easily. But maybe I’ll tell them the truth. Maybe they’ll laugh at me. Or maybe, they’ll… I don’t know. But I think I’ll tell them the truth.”

The woman nodded. “The truth is a good place to start.”

The End 

Thanks for listening. That got a bit heavier than I expected. Emotionally, I mean. When I started writing, I had a vague idea about a piece of paper that was heavier than it looked, and maybe the weight would change for different people… somehow. Which led me down this path. And I think it’s maybe an interesting path…? I don’t know. What would you write with this prompt? 

As always, if you’re enjoying Freely Written, please share it with your friends. You can also read my novels and other books in both print and ebook editions. And, if you haven’t heard, my first novel, The Insistence of Memory, is now available as an audiobook! 

You can find my audiobook on Audible, Amazon, and Apple Books. My other books are widely available. Learn more by visiting my website, SusanQuilty.com, or by searching for “Susan Quilty” wherever you buy books. There are also links in the show notes. 

Until next time, try a little free writing of your own. Let go of any planning and see where your imagination takes you. 

[Light piano music]