Well! What a pleasure it is to turn and find you there. We don’t get many visitors, at least not to this part of the manse. Somehow—and I must reprimand the downstairs staff—you have stumbled upon the secret study of M.L. Swift, Writer, that is, the unassuming man who sits quietly on the other side of the room. My name is Butler, his valet.
Have a seat while I pour you a cup. Not over there with him! Are you daft? He demands solitude when he writes. The chair on this side of the room. Yes, that one. Cream? Sugar?
Be warned—this is an ever-changing room. After your coffee, you must exit by way of the dumbwaiter that leads to the passageway above marked, “Blog,” for in the moments you’ve been here, the walls have shifted, and the door that you entered no longer exists.
As is his preference, the study is kept dim, lit only by the glow of the laptop, a kerosene lamp, and the fading embers in the fireplace. Please…no flash photography. No photography of any kind. His privacy is of the utmost importance.
It is an honor to watch the Master of the House at work, with his fingers woven together and placed behind his neck, holding up a head that is heavy-laden with brilliant adventures. His eyes, glazed and fixed upon an imaginary kite in a faraway sky, reflect the words that have been his labor these past few hours. You seem to have arrived in the middle of his musing.
Yes…he is musing. Be very still.
He was once heard to say that when he appears idle, he is actually creating in his mind and must not be disturbed, therefore, I believe it is time to take your leave. I am told that this is some of the most important work a writer does.
Plus, if I’m not mistaken, those are the sounds of snoring.
(Crawl in the Dumbwaiter to Blog.)