Jimmy glowed and soared on psilocybin by the light of the sunset as he mulled over Tom’s response to the phrase Soul Kitchen. He dug it. It was pithy, dead right, and communicated a secret alphabet.
Maybe Tom had the goods. Not as a damn writer! Not one of those writers who practice empathy on the page but rarely or never in real life. Too many of those phonies, as Holden might have called them. No, maybe Tom had the goods to break on through and actually help people and animals and watersheds.
The cupboard is bare. So start stocking it with art, music, poetry, love, friendship and succor. Yes, I am a chipmunk that knows what succor means.
Tom read the message in the morning with his coffee and Calvados. He was somewhat disappointed. He thought he might receive some writing advice.
Unbeknownst to him, he had. Some writers never realize the best advice to become a writer has nothing to do with writing.
Ink pad is at your disposal. I left a sketch pad out. I’ll start stocking the cupboard today. Going to help an old man in the park transplant his tomatoes to get more sun. Then driving two meth miscreants to their probation meeting. Fixing up a couple of abandoned bikes, too, and donating them to the animal thrift store. Is that the kind of stocking you mean?
Yes, that was exactly the kind of stocking Jimmy meant.
And in short order, Tom would start writing about the stocking and keep on stocking, and he would begin to find a voice as writer, because sometimes when you stock the cupboard of the soul kitchen, you talk to the people who need the goods and hear their stories, stories that need to be heard but no one is telling.