Maurice: The Matchmaker
Every finished story begins as a mess. A line in a notebook. A passing daydream. A scribble that doesn’t quite make sense until it won’t stop whispering to you. This series—The Alchemy of Ink and Words—follows the journey from raw idea to finished tale. Along the way, you’ll meet characters who changed their names, scenes that wrote themselves, and one very opinionated parrot.
📖 The First Sentence I Ever Wrote About Maurice:
“Maurice was unshaven, as was the style of people from the city. Maurice was not from the city, but sometimes the disguises we wear are worn for practical reasons instead of form, fashion, or faith.”
That line lived in an old notebook for years. I can’t say when I wrote it—truth be told, I don’t even remember writing it. But I remember the feeling it left behind.
The idea came back to me the way a memory sometimes does: carried on a sudden wisp of jasmine, sharp as perfume worn once by someone you loved, long ago.
I didn’t know who Maurice was—only that he wasn’t who he claimed to be. He was pretending. He wore the polish of a man from the city, but his boots had country mud on the soles. That tension between who he is and who he performs as—that stayed with me.
I had no plot. No time period. Just this vague, shadowy figure dressed like a gentleman and smelling faintly of sea salt and rose water.
And then, one day, he brought a parrot with him.
🪶 The Magical Hook: A Parrot That Senses True Love
The story truly began when I added this simple idea:
The parrot only squawks in the presence of true love.
It changed everything. Suddenly Maurice wasn’t just a performer—he was a matchmaker. A traveling romantic. A man who helped others find the very thing he himself didn’t dare pursue. A man of great talent and quiet loneliness, hiding behind a bird whose judgment he trusts more than his own heart.
The parrot—later named Kodao—is magical, of course. But not flashy. Not showy. It doesn’t speak in riddles or predict the future. It simply reacts—fluttering, chirping, or going perfectly still—whenever two souls who truly belong together are near.
And sometimes, it reacts in ways Maurice finds… deeply inconvenient.
🎭 From Albert Heartman to Maurice Handsome Cicero
Of course, Maurice was not his true name.
He had been born Albert Heartman – a name more suited, he always thought, to a man who sold bacon, or perhaps oversaw the king’s tithings in a dusty back office where love was weighed by the pound and taxed accordingly.
It did not, decidedly, conjure the mysterious air of a romantic alchemist.
The disguises we wear, Maurice often mused, are not always born of deception. Sometimes they spring from a quiet longing to express something more truthful than our given selves – something aspirational, or archetypal. Not always form, fashion, or faith—but practicality.
🪞 The Rewrite: From Scribble to Silk
Here’s a short excerpt from the rewritten story – what began as a messy line is now a stage set for a life lived in disguise:
Maurice was comfortably past his twenties, though his precise age remained an elegant mystery, gently hinted at by subtle greys at his temples and a striking tuft of white nestled in his bangs. Each ivory strand whispered a story, and were one to listen attentively, each tale would unfold an experience—if considered thoughtfully, revealing something profound about the age and true nature of Maurice. Yet, the book of a man can only reveal so much upon first glance; one must linger over each chapter, patiently reading the quiet truths between the lines to fully grasp the epic story each person embodies…
(The full version will appear in the first chapter release.)
🔮 What Comes Next
In the coming weeks, I’ll be continuing Maurice’s story—scene by scene, character by character. You’ll meet:
- Mrs. Macchiato, a woman of tightly wound nerves and frilly peach dresses, on a desperate mission to find her daughter a husband.
- Anabel, said daughter, who reads philosophy during debutante class and questions the entire institution of courtship.
- A doomed couple who discover they are either related or inclined in opposing romantic directions.
- And of course, Kodao, the last of his kind, whose silence and song carry more weight than prophecy.
Between chapter drops, I’ll also share the process: what changed, what surprised me, and the behind-the-scenes alchemy that turns an old scribble into a full-fledged tale.
💌 Closing Invitation
Have you ever had an idea return to you years later, more alive than when it first arrived?
Have you ever become someone else to tell a story more clearly?
Let me know in the comments. And if you’re curious to see where Maurice and his meddlesome parrot end up – well, you’re already in the right place.
T.L. Johnson 
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