Perils of Plagiarism

Tess Duncan

I wanted to tell the story of a surprise visit to a lover, an early morning detour on the way to work.

 It started well enough. 

‘It ‘s seven a.m. T
he traffic caterpillars 
Along the highway’ 

 I was pleased with these opening lines. They scanned easily, captured the peak traffic volume hiccup action. 

My mind wandered to my heroine’s eventual destination. 

Entering the house via the unlocked back door into the hush of a sleeping house, she would inhale its soft scented air, feel the security that a confined house and hallways with doors gives; move stealthily along the corridor. 

“The floor creaks her arrival”. Senses alert, growing crescendo. The room looms, a darkened cave, womb-like warmth and nourishment. 

Then to the lovers’ embrace. He is fast asleep, naked under the blankets. Heavens Gates’ promises beckon. 

Skipping over both the undressing and the odyssey to the bed in an unknown room, in the dark without mishap, the challenge was to describe the first physical contact. 

Let’s start with the sheets, I thought. Ah yes… the sheets… the first sensation, doorway to the thrilling embrace… How to describe the sheets’ texture and temperature and their part in fuelling anticipation for the AND THEN….

No better analogy presented itself than a fellow author’s opening sentence in a recent publication. An unashamed word-magpie, I had not the slightest qualm in filching. I savoured the words…“warm-water soft”….  Ah exactly…. Such a good fit I thought; a slick theft. 

I re-lived the moment I first heard them. These words had evoked a physical sensation, caught and rolled me round those sheets and wrapped me secure in sensory pleasure. Yes… the sheets in my story will be “warm-water soft”. I would have my lovers’ flight on gossamer wings predicated in “warm-water soft” sheets. 

Oh Dear…Oh Dear…. Oh Dear… Buggar!…….He’s wet the bed.<SIGH> Not the climax I’d planned. 

The perils of plagiarism

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