In the distance, a man came running. He was clearly in a hurry. Esmée was so absorbed in Jelle's message that she had not even seen him.
"Watch out, bitch!" the man shouted as he quickly jumped into the train. They had three minutes left. That's an eternity in train-time. Calm down.
He was one of those "I-do-a-suit-to-compensate-for-my-unreasonableness" types. A number in the company where he worked, but outside acting hugely pompous. As long as he met his targets.
Jelle's news
Jelle was not like that. Jelle was different. They had met in Ibiza, on a hiking trip. She was there with girlfriends, he with his parents. His relationship had just broken up, then, three years ago.
It was pouring rain that day, and she did have an umbrella. His smile when he asked to take shelter with her still made her melt.
"I am a bit late today. There is a fantastic job opportunity for me at our Groningen office. Company car, raise, more responsibility, challenge. I'll catch up with you later."
Groningen. She had lived in Den Bosch all her life. Her social life, her parents. What did she have in Groningen?
In thought, she slumped down in her chair. Next to her the angry-looking man in a suit. Even better than Groningen, then.
Groningen?
Nothing much ever happened on the train. Esmée was used to travelling the route to Utrecht every day. But it had never taken as long as today.
Jelle's message kept grinding. Groningen. She had been there once before. That was where that museum with the little bridge was in the centre these days, wasn't it?
She knew from friends that it was a great college town, but those days were already several years behind her. Behind Jelle, too. Would she be able to connect there.
Would Jelle actually expect her to come along? Their plans to buy a house together were still fresh. She still had her fine flat in the city centre. Not too big, but with a lovely balcony that caught the evening sun.
Just yesterday, she had sat there reading delightfully. The old man and the sea. Such a wonderfully relatable book. She read it at least once a year. A glass of wine with her.
Of course, she would follow Jelle to Greenland, that was not the point. But getting away from her safe haven was difficult. "House sparrow," she thought aloud.
Beside her, the gruff suit man looked up in surprise.
New colours
Esmée was surprised by the haircolours. They sometimes say that an owner becomes like his dog, but hey, you don't make this up.
Jelle also had such hair. He was a not tall, normal build, but his wavy red hair made him look like he had walked right out of an Ed Sheeran song. He just had nothing on Guinness.
The average Groninger is tall, she read. And: "Groninger lives on average 1.4 kilometres from library". Not that that did anything for her perception. Cucumber time. Houses are affordable, you just have to take care not to live on gas.
Groningen. It already bothered Esmée a little less. Such a train journey helps you organise your thoughts. The walk from the station to her studio even more so.
Tonight she had to shoot another video, explaining how different Tombow pens together made even more colours. Handlettering had gained tremendous momentum and so had her courses.
This afternoon she first had to work at Bistro Het Einde van Nederland (no insta). They wanted a new wall drawing because they got so many good reactions to the previous one! Nice compliment! She had immediately packed her Posca chalk markers.
Fine, work for a while, clear her head. She did speak to Jelle this evening.
Digital nomad
Esmée and I met at a coffee shop on a side street off the high street. She wanted to set up a website, where she could post her stories and concoctions. A place to write from her.
With an ad here, and a sponsored article there, she hoped to turn her hobby into her job. As so many dream.
She could do her work as an illustrator anywhere, writing too. Moving away with Jelle gave her new inspiration, and allowed her to anonymously soak up the city. Her blog now has just over five hundred visitors a day, curious about each new story.
You want to know more, to know how it ends. The end of the story. Esmée knows how to write somewhere like no other. An emotion, a relief or surprise. Cliffhangers. What happened to the grumpy suit man?
Storytelling and your website
If you have come to this point, I have managed to captivate you. Have I brought you into the story.
Did you know that your website really works the same way? Every page a cliffhanger, an introduction (your homepage) and a closing page (the thank-you page after your shopping cart or your contact page). A table of contents (your menu) if desired.
A website is not a conglomeration of pages, but an umbrella, a story that you need to get right.
Do like Esmée, and please let us know. I will be happy to help you.
No, yo, I don't know anything to say.... (then we definitely need to talk)
And then this
I don't know any Esmée, really. I follow through my @badlog account influencers like Esmée on Instagram, though 🙂 ...
Everything here, I also have on instagram put. I wrote it for that reason. The text has not been optimised, there is no reason other than I enjoyed writing a little story.
The bow cannot always be tight.
English (UK)