fic_variations | The Fashioning Of Words (Prompt 2, Sam Seaborn) (Reply)

Title: The Fashioning Of Words
Author: Sara (

callmedirk)
Rating: G
fic_variations Prompt/Claim: Fashion/Sam Seaborn
Words:
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: Scooting this one in on the deadline date. Woo! Fic 5 is done. *g*

Sam was a meticulous, wordy writer. He would spend hours at a time, pen to paper, scribbling frantically. He would consult books, binders, notes, and do endless amounts of research. He had to get it right, he had to have it perfect, each word meaning something and making sense.

His writing was crisp, witty, and fit perfect with the President's speaking style. Privately, Josh and Leo thought Sam was a better writer than Toby when it came to the true fundamentals of writing Presidential comments or speeches.

He loved fashioning just the right sentiment for--well, for whatever President Bartlet needed. He really didn't care if it took him days, or weeks, as long as he got it right eventually.

Sam would have killed to have been the kind of writer who nailed something on the first try, but deep down, he loved the craft of writing, and he loved taking the time to get it right after throwing away endless sheets of lined paper, full of scribbles and streaks of white out, and cross outs and notes in the margins.

He loved looking down at his hands and seeing the ink on his fingers and on the side of his hand from where it had brushed across fresh words. At the end of the day, Sam knew he had been productive by how much ink still remained on his hands after a good scrubbing.

He had rows and rows of reference books and binders of notes and information lined up on his office shelves. Each was neatly labeled by Cathy for his ease, and he knew exactly what was in each folder or book. Everything sat at his fingertips, and it made him more efficient.

Sam's wire-rimmed glasses were pushed up on his nose as one of his long, slender fingers skimmed down the page of a book of quotations on inspiration and creativity. President Bartlet was to give a speech to a group of young authors in two days and Sam wanted to make sure that the speech he fashioned for the President was both well-crafted and inspiring. If anything, Sam wanted to show off his own excellent writing, but he also wanted to help the President inspire young minds to craft the written word and share it with the millions of people around the country and around the world.

After scribbling furiously for a few more minutes, Sam straightened up from the hunched over position he assumed every second he was writing, and leaned back in his chair, lifting his notepad up to read the words.

His eyes skimmed over his writing, and taking that glance-over, he made a few changes and a few corrections, but was overall satisfied. He quickly typed up the 17 pages of writing from his notepad and printed it, sliding the neat, crisp pages into a blue leather folder.

Standing up, Sam slipped on his jacket and carried the folder through the White House and into the outer Oval Office. Mrs. Landingham ushered him through to the Oval and the President stood to greet him.

"It's done?" he asked, glancing up at Sam's smiling face.

"Yes sir, it is," Sam replied, handing him the folder.

"Well, let's take a look," the President said.

Sam sat in a chair next to Bartlet as he settled into an armchair to read. After a few minutes of no talking, and only the sound of the pages turning, he heard the President sigh a bit.

"Sir?" Sam asked.

"Sam, this is excellent. Don't you dare make one more change to it. It's done."

Sam nodded and Bartlet handed him the folder.

"Get that prompted for me immediately. I want to practice these lovely words so I can get them just right in two days," he said. "Thank you, Sam,"

"Thank you, Mr. President," the younger man smiled, his cheeks faintly pink.

As he walked off, he felt a sudden sense of pride. He'd been perfect today.