Wow, the last few days snuck by. I can't believe I'm facing the first day of March tomorrow. Maybe this is the culmination of the past few weeks, even months, leading to this new beginning. When we come to the end of ourselves, it's often there we find the world we never expected to find. It is here I find myself, waiting on my Lord to see what it is He's going to do in the midst of these circumstances. Today I was reminded through another, encouragement in the form of one who well knows the prayer we share, "Give us this day our daily bread." So, for today, thank You for Your blessed provision and hand upon me. Tomorrow will worry about itself. May it then be the same prayer uttered and received, "Give us this day our daily bread."
And I'd give anything for a mechanical typewriter right now. I have an idea I'm going to try and flesh out as soon as I can find one. On working, and one in pieces would certainly provide the necessary components. Guess we'll see if and where it comes from. Cheers! Farewell from February...
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Day 25: comrade in arms...
As long as I can remember, I've been a fan of stories. I used to make myself sick reading in the back of the car on winding mountain roads, refusing to stop until I couldn't bear it any longer. This path led me to discover the wonders of fantasy in the world of Lloyd Alexander and his young hero, Taran. We watch as Taran's world expands and as old and new friends join him to challenge and aid him in facing the trials of ever changing circumstance.
Among these comrades he meets Eilonway, a fairly talkative and sometimes pushy princess. As you can guess, this relationship develops into something more despite the ignorance inherent in the young. I was enraptured. I could think of little else I wanted than for the two to fall in love, save that he also need win against the evil encroaching upon the land.
So it has been with story after story, echoing a longing and joy in my heart. That of love, and the picture of a comrade in arms to face the adventures of life with me. The women who have appealed to me throughout the wealth of myth have never been ones to remain faceless at home. They've walked the path with the man they loved. They have strengths and gifts all their own that make them invaluable allies. It is not to say that this is not sometimes accomplished on a different front than the one he fights, but there is always a united effort in service to a common destiny.
The two become one. The life is shared, as is the adventure, and together they face challenges known and mysteries unknown. It is this very special relationship found in a lifetime companion to walk the road. Side by side, every onward, from beginnings to end... friends, comrades, lovers.
What an incredible dream! What hope for the day when this is real in my life. And even moreso, hope for the day when the men and women of this very real world would do more than long for the love of legend and myth, but rather, they would come to live it!
Together, comrades in arms...
Among these comrades he meets Eilonway, a fairly talkative and sometimes pushy princess. As you can guess, this relationship develops into something more despite the ignorance inherent in the young. I was enraptured. I could think of little else I wanted than for the two to fall in love, save that he also need win against the evil encroaching upon the land.
So it has been with story after story, echoing a longing and joy in my heart. That of love, and the picture of a comrade in arms to face the adventures of life with me. The women who have appealed to me throughout the wealth of myth have never been ones to remain faceless at home. They've walked the path with the man they loved. They have strengths and gifts all their own that make them invaluable allies. It is not to say that this is not sometimes accomplished on a different front than the one he fights, but there is always a united effort in service to a common destiny.
The two become one. The life is shared, as is the adventure, and together they face challenges known and mysteries unknown. It is this very special relationship found in a lifetime companion to walk the road. Side by side, every onward, from beginnings to end... friends, comrades, lovers.
What an incredible dream! What hope for the day when this is real in my life. And even moreso, hope for the day when the men and women of this very real world would do more than long for the love of legend and myth, but rather, they would come to live it!
Together, comrades in arms...
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Day 24: squirming in my seat...
"There's always something to do." These words have often been found in the mouth of my managers and bosses. It's almost true in context, but not always. I tend to frown on busy work as being productive so about the third time I've re-cleaned the counter it's way past overdone.
However, there is a certain truth in those words. I wish I was better at living them out. I've learned it's far easier to react to things and respond than it is to initiate and make things happen. And in our society, there aren't many initiators. This leaves us squirming in our seats and uncertain what to do next when things don't seem to be happening. Yes, even leaves us bored.
Now there are times where we have to wait, where we can do no more toward a specific goal, but that doesn't mean there aren't other things to pursue or do. So next time you or I find ourselves bored, squirming in our seats, because nothings been happening, maybe we should step out on the path of a dream and begin a new journey. Will you make something happen?
However, there is a certain truth in those words. I wish I was better at living them out. I've learned it's far easier to react to things and respond than it is to initiate and make things happen. And in our society, there aren't many initiators. This leaves us squirming in our seats and uncertain what to do next when things don't seem to be happening. Yes, even leaves us bored.
Now there are times where we have to wait, where we can do no more toward a specific goal, but that doesn't mean there aren't other things to pursue or do. So next time you or I find ourselves bored, squirming in our seats, because nothings been happening, maybe we should step out on the path of a dream and begin a new journey. Will you make something happen?
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Day 23: Fructuous
Fructuous - fruitful, productive
The very thing I'm striving to be. Today didn't start well, but it's been a hive of activity, mostly useful, since then. It feels good to be able to check things off the list as accomplished!
Stella was bored. The coffee shop just wasn't doing it for her today. Not to mention, Olympic hockey in the background wasn't exactly her background noise of choice. Even the endlessly repeating cycle of the new classics that usually played would have been an easier sell. But she still sat there, facing a computer screen that had gone past the point of yielding anything useful as she surfed through blogs, news and the buzz of hum drum chat that always served as a distraction. Her finger sliding dully across the touchpad, the cursor slipped up to bookmarked favorites. One last click, one final stop, one last daily dalliance. The page quickly loaded, and her eye traveled where she knew it would be. What she wasn't expecting was the accusation against the doldrums of the past hour staring back at her. There it was, the word of the day: fructuous - fruitful, productive. 'Oh well', she thought as she roughly shut her laptop, 'better late than never.'
The very thing I'm striving to be. Today didn't start well, but it's been a hive of activity, mostly useful, since then. It feels good to be able to check things off the list as accomplished!
Stella was bored. The coffee shop just wasn't doing it for her today. Not to mention, Olympic hockey in the background wasn't exactly her background noise of choice. Even the endlessly repeating cycle of the new classics that usually played would have been an easier sell. But she still sat there, facing a computer screen that had gone past the point of yielding anything useful as she surfed through blogs, news and the buzz of hum drum chat that always served as a distraction. Her finger sliding dully across the touchpad, the cursor slipped up to bookmarked favorites. One last click, one final stop, one last daily dalliance. The page quickly loaded, and her eye traveled where she knew it would be. What she wasn't expecting was the accusation against the doldrums of the past hour staring back at her. There it was, the word of the day: fructuous - fruitful, productive. 'Oh well', she thought as she roughly shut her laptop, 'better late than never.'
Monday, February 22, 2010
Day 22: direction...
Work ethic... good.
Direction... necessary.
Why?
Good work ethic without direction is often pointless busyness that may take us far from our purpose, far from the place we're intended to be. Be careful not to build the wrong house.
"Methinks there's a chance of rain. The bones be achin'."
The wizened captain laughed.
"Methinks you're right", he replied to the old seaman. "The patter o' heav'nly feet tells me so."
Direction... necessary.
Why?
Good work ethic without direction is often pointless busyness that may take us far from our purpose, far from the place we're intended to be. Be careful not to build the wrong house.
"Methinks there's a chance of rain. The bones be achin'."
The wizened captain laughed.
"Methinks you're right", he replied to the old seaman. "The patter o' heav'nly feet tells me so."
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Day 21: after a break...
This whole not having internet thing at home can be hellish on trying to write online. Of course, that in itself shows that I have not set planned time aside to write over the past three days. Must finish, and finish well, so I've been with some work including the beginnings of song lyrics. Alas, those I am not posting here, but it was some bit of writing over the past few days.
Been feeling the pressure of a fairly disjointed life, where all the pieces don't exactly line up. I'm not sure right now how to view this. I may be doing too much. Then again, it's also showing me that where many people use their job, a security in and of itself and the provision for everything else, as the central theme to tie all of it together. Indirectly, if nothing more. But shouldn't that position belong to God instead? Even the job should be an extension from Him as the central axis. I don't think I realized how much I've depended on my job for security until I've gone so long without one. And without one on the horizon, still I watch and wait. But I must wait for my provider... not a 40-50k a year position and a 401k with benefits, but Father God, the Lord Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. For that is the true foundation. I pray I come to understand it completely as my true foundation.
Been feeling the pressure of a fairly disjointed life, where all the pieces don't exactly line up. I'm not sure right now how to view this. I may be doing too much. Then again, it's also showing me that where many people use their job, a security in and of itself and the provision for everything else, as the central theme to tie all of it together. Indirectly, if nothing more. But shouldn't that position belong to God instead? Even the job should be an extension from Him as the central axis. I don't think I realized how much I've depended on my job for security until I've gone so long without one. And without one on the horizon, still I watch and wait. But I must wait for my provider... not a 40-50k a year position and a 401k with benefits, but Father God, the Lord Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. For that is the true foundation. I pray I come to understand it completely as my true foundation.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Day 17: Musing in the midst of other writing...
I've been surprised to discover a demotivating danger in my writing. Sadly, it's tied to lack of planning and proceeding only out of some vague idea of what's ahead. The more I write, and write, and write, putting word to page, the more I get bogged down in the hum drum of the characters life. And face it, if we were a character, and our day were a word for word account much of it would bore us to tears.
This is where I found myself, staring at pages of story and unwritten pages of story, wondering where the next event of import would be in the lives of my characters. What do I need to tell the reader that is pertinent to the story, because it's going to take longer than a few days of activity for the development I'm looking for to take place.
In many ways, a good story is like one season in the history of a team, a snapshot of one great moment in a lifetime, and maybe, just maybe, a great story is the highlight reel that encompasses the best moments to most showcase the struggle, the tragedy, the passion, the best and worst - those things that mark the defining moments leading to season's end and victory.
This is where I found myself, staring at pages of story and unwritten pages of story, wondering where the next event of import would be in the lives of my characters. What do I need to tell the reader that is pertinent to the story, because it's going to take longer than a few days of activity for the development I'm looking for to take place.
In many ways, a good story is like one season in the history of a team, a snapshot of one great moment in a lifetime, and maybe, just maybe, a great story is the highlight reel that encompasses the best moments to most showcase the struggle, the tragedy, the passion, the best and worst - those things that mark the defining moments leading to season's end and victory.
Day 16: Yes, I'm cheating... I didn't really write yesterday 8(
The young cowboy finally came riding up along the drive covered in dust and mud and looking much the worse for wear.
"What in th'hell happened to you, boy?" The grizzled old cowhand looked at him with apparent disgust, then turned and spit.
The young man looked down, obviously embarassed. "Ma' horse threw me."
The old man laughed, his rough face softening a bit and spat.
"Well," he said, "least yo'r back in the saddle, but what took you so damn long?"
He grinned sheepishly. "Gettin' back in the saddle's easy... catchin' ma' horse? well, that's another matter."
"What in th'hell happened to you, boy?" The grizzled old cowhand looked at him with apparent disgust, then turned and spit.
The young man looked down, obviously embarassed. "Ma' horse threw me."
The old man laughed, his rough face softening a bit and spat.
"Well," he said, "least yo'r back in the saddle, but what took you so damn long?"
He grinned sheepishly. "Gettin' back in the saddle's easy... catchin' ma' horse? well, that's another matter."
Monday, February 15, 2010
Day 15: Let it snow...
Gently falling snow
so graceful upon the breeze
drifting unto death
It's a shame that the snow falling before my eyes in such large flakes will be so short lived, melting almost immediately upon the asphalt. Memphis is not good to snow, but the delicate white visitor has alighted upon our doorstep more this year than any other since I've lived here. I am extremely grateful for Lady Snow's silent beauty.
so graceful upon the breeze
drifting unto death
It's a shame that the snow falling before my eyes in such large flakes will be so short lived, melting almost immediately upon the asphalt. Memphis is not good to snow, but the delicate white visitor has alighted upon our doorstep more this year than any other since I've lived here. I am extremely grateful for Lady Snow's silent beauty.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Day 14a: early? or late?
While I've been here, Saturday has sidled on into Sunday and I find myself face to face with Valentine's day, Feb. 14th. Not really sure how I feel about that. Maybe that's not that bad of a place to be. They're bringing out the fresh donuts, but as good as they are, I don't feel like paying full price for them tonight. So I'll let it pass, write a little, read a little and ferry myself off into dreamland. Ever noticed how much easier it is to deal with things when you're not thinking about them. I kind of wish I hadn't noticed that it was now Valentine's day. Usually, I'm not bothered by that at all, but tonight I sit on a precipice between cool with it and feeling a little lonely. A reminder that comes in the midst of my savior Jesus Christ who loves me best. I'm never alone, and strange as it may sound to some, I have a Valentine in my Jesus. May I never forget that dance! Of course, feelings of loneliness here and now aren't necessarily contrary to His plan. He may very well be stoking the fire to expose my need so that He can fill it. Now I wonder if I should be prattling on about this here... eh, likely nothing to worry about. But what do I write about now?
A styrofoam cup sat nondescript on the cluttered table. Quietly, almost invisible on the white table, it sat amidst a laptop, an inkpen, a power adaptor and a couple books. Its lidded shape promised warmth, heat and a dark, bitter brew, but the cup itself and its owner knew the truth and the source of its discontent. The cup was empty. There could be only one remedy resting within the power of its owner to grant. "Fill me!" came the cups silent cry. And a reply from silence, coffee's sudden warmth within its depths. The cup rejoiced, once again filled to its purpose.
A styrofoam cup sat nondescript on the cluttered table. Quietly, almost invisible on the white table, it sat amidst a laptop, an inkpen, a power adaptor and a couple books. Its lidded shape promised warmth, heat and a dark, bitter brew, but the cup itself and its owner knew the truth and the source of its discontent. The cup was empty. There could be only one remedy resting within the power of its owner to grant. "Fill me!" came the cups silent cry. And a reply from silence, coffee's sudden warmth within its depths. The cup rejoiced, once again filled to its purpose.
Day 13: A first encounter with Roller Derby...
I don't think I dare try to write something fictitiously related to tonight, but I will state that I'm fairly fascinated by the roller derby culture. Not to mention that I had a great time and even found myself picking out favorite players as I slowly gained better understanding of the sport... a VERY rudimentary understanding thus far. It was a great way to spend the evening in the company of good friends.
Tonight is somehow a night of writing duty than joy, but somehow that's the point... new habits don't come cheap but by sacrifice. It may be short, but I'm searching Gibson's donuts for some inspiration and surely I can find it at a place where pigs fly. Too bad so many people were here for the cheap donuts. I missed out for tomorrow.
You know, I cannot think that there's anything pleasant to be said for the possibility of flying pigs. When I look up there are some things I just don't want to see!
Somehow I think that's passable, especially with a few more responsibilities awaiting me before I can lay my head on a pillow and call it a night... so Cheers y'all... sleep tight and I'll talk to you tomorrow.
Tonight is somehow a night of writing duty than joy, but somehow that's the point... new habits don't come cheap but by sacrifice. It may be short, but I'm searching Gibson's donuts for some inspiration and surely I can find it at a place where pigs fly. Too bad so many people were here for the cheap donuts. I missed out for tomorrow.
You know, I cannot think that there's anything pleasant to be said for the possibility of flying pigs. When I look up there are some things I just don't want to see!
Somehow I think that's passable, especially with a few more responsibilities awaiting me before I can lay my head on a pillow and call it a night... so Cheers y'all... sleep tight and I'll talk to you tomorrow.
Day 12: Does it count if I wrote it my head?
Mucus, mucus everywhere
I am amazed at thee
That thou wouldst choose a time like this
To set thy might against me
Thy standards green and yellow fly
a proud display upon my lip
Try as I may to stop the flow
the balance ne'er does tip
Rank by rank I wipe away
each legion that you send
Yet still they come, still they charge
against them I forefend
I hope to win this battle
as I have done before
but in exchanges of attrition
am I sure to win the war?
Who knew my nasal cavity
be portal to worlds of slime,
but win I will, win I must
if only a matter of time.
Fight on, fight on tissue in hand,
the ballista to my foe,
Alas, the box is empty now,
and I fear I may fight no more.
This cannot be, I grit my teeth,
I shall make John Wayne proud,
and with a finger block one hole
and spray thee upon the ground!
I am amazed at thee
That thou wouldst choose a time like this
To set thy might against me
Thy standards green and yellow fly
a proud display upon my lip
Try as I may to stop the flow
the balance ne'er does tip
Rank by rank I wipe away
each legion that you send
Yet still they come, still they charge
against them I forefend
I hope to win this battle
as I have done before
but in exchanges of attrition
am I sure to win the war?
Who knew my nasal cavity
be portal to worlds of slime,
but win I will, win I must
if only a matter of time.
Fight on, fight on tissue in hand,
the ballista to my foe,
Alas, the box is empty now,
and I fear I may fight no more.
This cannot be, I grit my teeth,
I shall make John Wayne proud,
and with a finger block one hole
and spray thee upon the ground!
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Day 11: shoot their wounded...
A great descriptive phrase tonight. In context, it was a statement of what this group was NOT, but could go both ways in terms of story telling. We are NOT those who "shoot their wounded just to protect/save themselves".
He cared enough to lay his fears aside and drag his comrade of a day to safety. Why would he place himself in further danger for another? "Because I am more than an animal," he said, "and so is my brother."
He cared enough to lay his fears aside and drag his comrade of a day to safety. Why would he place himself in further danger for another? "Because I am more than an animal," he said, "and so is my brother."
Day 10: Posted today, written yesterday...
Ho there young fella. Mind buyin an old man a drink?
What a day! I say, I'm rather exhausted. A shame. Boredom will do that to you, you know? Ahh, of course you do. How could you live in this day and age and not see it?
Oh how I miss the old days. Can't even remember the last time I broke a sweat, a real, good sweat. Work sure has changed.
Oh, oh.. I'm so sorry. You looked quite familiar. Thought you knew me. I am a Threshold Guardian by profession. I test the mettle of would be heroes. This world's come to a sad state... sad. No strength anymore. Not of arms, or of character for that matter. Now don't get me wrong, there are some good people out there, just not good enough. Can you believe I've failed over 5o applicants already this week? And it's only Tuesday! Pathetic lot... even with all the new regulations and the lowered standards that pass for tests.
You know there were times in the past that a single applicant would keep me occupied for weeks on some martial campaign. At least a day in single combat. At least! Hmmmph... now it's scantrons and pencils instead of shields, armies and swords. We've succumbed to a bloody written test. They can't even pass that!
Forgive me for being old fashioned, but I'd be happier to test the mettle of some strapping dolt with a broadsword than these Poindexters. It is a slow, slow death, and that's saying something coming from an immortal. Anyway, enough of that. You know, you're a nice chap to sit and listen to me prattle on. What can I say, it's been a long century with a highlight reel that ended about sixty years ago.
Oh, by the way, here's my card. If you happen to see anyone around here with some potential, send 'em my way. Plenty of work to be done and not near enough heroes. What about you? Hah! No, I suppose not.
Bartender, another pint...
and one for my friend here.
What a day! I say, I'm rather exhausted. A shame. Boredom will do that to you, you know? Ahh, of course you do. How could you live in this day and age and not see it?
Oh how I miss the old days. Can't even remember the last time I broke a sweat, a real, good sweat. Work sure has changed.
Oh, oh.. I'm so sorry. You looked quite familiar. Thought you knew me. I am a Threshold Guardian by profession. I test the mettle of would be heroes. This world's come to a sad state... sad. No strength anymore. Not of arms, or of character for that matter. Now don't get me wrong, there are some good people out there, just not good enough. Can you believe I've failed over 5o applicants already this week? And it's only Tuesday! Pathetic lot... even with all the new regulations and the lowered standards that pass for tests.
You know there were times in the past that a single applicant would keep me occupied for weeks on some martial campaign. At least a day in single combat. At least! Hmmmph... now it's scantrons and pencils instead of shields, armies and swords. We've succumbed to a bloody written test. They can't even pass that!
Forgive me for being old fashioned, but I'd be happier to test the mettle of some strapping dolt with a broadsword than these Poindexters. It is a slow, slow death, and that's saying something coming from an immortal. Anyway, enough of that. You know, you're a nice chap to sit and listen to me prattle on. What can I say, it's been a long century with a highlight reel that ended about sixty years ago.
Oh, by the way, here's my card. If you happen to see anyone around here with some potential, send 'em my way. Plenty of work to be done and not near enough heroes. What about you? Hah! No, I suppose not.
Bartender, another pint...
and one for my friend here.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Day 9: redneck romance...
Relationships are a strange thing. Their beginnings often just as strange. As just one simple example, take the guy who becomes Prince Charming by screwing up the pick up line... badly. She giggles, then laughs and by some miracle he realizes that she's actually smiling at him, really smiling, and he takes the chance. You might say something similar happened to Hank.
Hank was not the sharpest tool in the shed, which is not the most promising beginning for a would be Casanova. Sadly, you couldn't even say he was bold or persistent. Hank just kind of was. He managed. Hank was, however, devoted. Devoted to one particular young lady in Mile City, Montana, a waitress at the '600 Cafe', and her name was Alice.
As you can imagine, there were many stolen glances over a cup of coffee and stuttered orders of pancakes, bacon & eggs, or grits while trying his best not to look at her. He would think of things to say, but they never made there way out past the 'thank you' that followed his order.
Hank was hopeless on the outside, but hope kept him coming back. Alright, so I said he wasn't persistent. That's not entirely true, and I guess you could say his persistence eventually paid off. At least in the form of dumb luck.
As it happened, they decided to change the menu at the cafe. They wanted to attract a more cultured crowd. Now, one of the dishes was a fancy egg white concoction called "Purity of the Morning". Did I mention these were very short lived changes?
Anyway, Hank stared at the menu some time before he finally decided he liked the picture of "Purity of the Morning" best. Alice came by for the third time that morning, by now a little flustered that he was taking so long. To be fair, that all the patrons were taking so long.
"Ready?"
"Y-yeah," Hank stammered, "I, I th-think I am."
He was a little scared, but he thought he'd worked out the words well enough. Hooked on Phonics had at least helped him a little bit.
"I'll h-have the p-p-purty of the mornin', please."
Alice couldn't help herself. She giggled. Surprise caused him to do something he'd never done. He looked at her, and of all the unexpected things, she was smiling.
"D-did I say it wrong?" he asked.
"No hon, you said it just right." He watched openly as she walked away, unaware of the foolish grin on his face. Strangely enough, it was the beginning of a beautiful relationship between Hank and his purty of the mornin', Alice.
Hank was not the sharpest tool in the shed, which is not the most promising beginning for a would be Casanova. Sadly, you couldn't even say he was bold or persistent. Hank just kind of was. He managed. Hank was, however, devoted. Devoted to one particular young lady in Mile City, Montana, a waitress at the '600 Cafe', and her name was Alice.
As you can imagine, there were many stolen glances over a cup of coffee and stuttered orders of pancakes, bacon & eggs, or grits while trying his best not to look at her. He would think of things to say, but they never made there way out past the 'thank you' that followed his order.
Hank was hopeless on the outside, but hope kept him coming back. Alright, so I said he wasn't persistent. That's not entirely true, and I guess you could say his persistence eventually paid off. At least in the form of dumb luck.
As it happened, they decided to change the menu at the cafe. They wanted to attract a more cultured crowd. Now, one of the dishes was a fancy egg white concoction called "Purity of the Morning". Did I mention these were very short lived changes?
Anyway, Hank stared at the menu some time before he finally decided he liked the picture of "Purity of the Morning" best. Alice came by for the third time that morning, by now a little flustered that he was taking so long. To be fair, that all the patrons were taking so long.
"Ready?"
"Y-yeah," Hank stammered, "I, I th-think I am."
He was a little scared, but he thought he'd worked out the words well enough. Hooked on Phonics had at least helped him a little bit.
"I'll h-have the p-p-purty of the mornin', please."
Alice couldn't help herself. She giggled. Surprise caused him to do something he'd never done. He looked at her, and of all the unexpected things, she was smiling.
"D-did I say it wrong?" he asked.
"No hon, you said it just right." He watched openly as she walked away, unaware of the foolish grin on his face. Strangely enough, it was the beginning of a beautiful relationship between Hank and his purty of the mornin', Alice.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Day 8: Warning: Creativity is like an avalanche!
Wouldn't that be a nice warning sign to see? Creativity starts small, but as it gains speed it grows! As do the many avenues for its expression. For example, the idea for next month that came from joining someone in this little stretch of Feb.'s fab writing. It's rather simple, and anyone who happens to read these words and would like to try it with me... Please do! Do something you've never done before every day. It can be the most mundane thing in the world, or something as daring as skydiving should you get the chance. Then, write about it. Pure & simple... experience life! I'm a firm believer that our observation goes deeper when we're trying to learn from it, especially if we intend to share it with others. So, this way I'm intentionally becoming a sponge to the world. Will you join me?
Another thing of note - it's much easier to continue on when we have an audience, even better when we have compatriots walking with us. The encouragement it yields keeps you going! So basically I'm telling you I'm a little needy and I like to hear from you. If you happen to drop in and read what's here, please take a moment to leave a comment. Even just a hullo! It's nice to know that somebody's out there.
Pete wondered if anyone was really out there. I mean, really, really out there. He'd been pinging sights and sounds into the heavens for years with nothing to show for it. He squeezed the bridge of his nose tightly, and rubbed his eyes clear before pushing his wire frame glasses back in place. The screen hadn't changed, and the data had become predictable.
"It's time for a break."
Pete grabbed his scarf and coat and opened the door of the observatory. It was morning, brisk, cool, and silent. Sometime in the night, snow had fallen and the untouched white blanket covered everything. No sights, no sounds.
"Everyone must be in." He had worked through the night again he realized. His wife would be furious. His work of a lifetime was beginning to seem as pointless as others had told him it would be. He looked up again. "... but surely?"
He sighed. It was time to go home.
He walked home in the peaceful silence, surrounded by white, pillowy beauty. Undisturbed, untouched until his footsteps. He smiled to himself. "I'm breaking new ground." A moment's look over his shoulder, showed the single set of footprints behind him. "But," he added grimly, "is anyone following?"
He continued on, finally turning the corner into his neighborhood. The scuff of a shovel on pavement surprised him, and he looked up to see his 80 year old neighbor clearing the drive. The man astounded him with all he as capable of at his age. He just exuded life.
Pete looked at the man for a moment, then shook his head and started to walk on. Splat!
Cold trickled down his back from the snowball. "Wha?... Harry?" The old man was laughing hysterically his eyes a twinkle. Pete could read the challenge there. Something snapped in him, and before he knew it the two men were capering about tossing snowballs like elementary school boys.
Pete suddenly lost his footing on the drive and fell into the piled snow of Harry's yard out of breath and grinning from ear to ear. He found himself laughing along with the older man who'd sat down beside him. He lay there for a while, the two men looking up at the morning sky.
After a moment, he got up to leave. He couldn't help but smile. "Harry, thank you." The old man smiled in return. "And you, it's been too long." And he laughed again, "Oh, so long."
In that moment, Pete had an idea. "Wait here." he said before running across the street. He balled up a snowball and hurled it... Thump! against the window. Then another, and then another. Finally, a scowling woman that could only be his wife so rudely awakened peered out, but at the sight of him, and what a sight it must have been, she seemed to soften. His two kids joined her at the window and began laughing.
Pete threw his last snowball. Thump! against the window. A challenge daring them to come. Then he ran quickly to the other side and helped Harry to his feet.
"We must prepare," he cried happily. "There's life out there, and after that, I'm not sure it's going to be friendly."
Another thing of note - it's much easier to continue on when we have an audience, even better when we have compatriots walking with us. The encouragement it yields keeps you going! So basically I'm telling you I'm a little needy and I like to hear from you. If you happen to drop in and read what's here, please take a moment to leave a comment. Even just a hullo! It's nice to know that somebody's out there.
Pete wondered if anyone was really out there. I mean, really, really out there. He'd been pinging sights and sounds into the heavens for years with nothing to show for it. He squeezed the bridge of his nose tightly, and rubbed his eyes clear before pushing his wire frame glasses back in place. The screen hadn't changed, and the data had become predictable.
"It's time for a break."
Pete grabbed his scarf and coat and opened the door of the observatory. It was morning, brisk, cool, and silent. Sometime in the night, snow had fallen and the untouched white blanket covered everything. No sights, no sounds.
"Everyone must be in." He had worked through the night again he realized. His wife would be furious. His work of a lifetime was beginning to seem as pointless as others had told him it would be. He looked up again. "... but surely?"
He sighed. It was time to go home.
He walked home in the peaceful silence, surrounded by white, pillowy beauty. Undisturbed, untouched until his footsteps. He smiled to himself. "I'm breaking new ground." A moment's look over his shoulder, showed the single set of footprints behind him. "But," he added grimly, "is anyone following?"
He continued on, finally turning the corner into his neighborhood. The scuff of a shovel on pavement surprised him, and he looked up to see his 80 year old neighbor clearing the drive. The man astounded him with all he as capable of at his age. He just exuded life.
Pete looked at the man for a moment, then shook his head and started to walk on. Splat!
Cold trickled down his back from the snowball. "Wha?... Harry?" The old man was laughing hysterically his eyes a twinkle. Pete could read the challenge there. Something snapped in him, and before he knew it the two men were capering about tossing snowballs like elementary school boys.
Pete suddenly lost his footing on the drive and fell into the piled snow of Harry's yard out of breath and grinning from ear to ear. He found himself laughing along with the older man who'd sat down beside him. He lay there for a while, the two men looking up at the morning sky.
After a moment, he got up to leave. He couldn't help but smile. "Harry, thank you." The old man smiled in return. "And you, it's been too long." And he laughed again, "Oh, so long."
In that moment, Pete had an idea. "Wait here." he said before running across the street. He balled up a snowball and hurled it... Thump! against the window. Then another, and then another. Finally, a scowling woman that could only be his wife so rudely awakened peered out, but at the sight of him, and what a sight it must have been, she seemed to soften. His two kids joined her at the window and began laughing.
Pete threw his last snowball. Thump! against the window. A challenge daring them to come. Then he ran quickly to the other side and helped Harry to his feet.
"We must prepare," he cried happily. "There's life out there, and after that, I'm not sure it's going to be friendly."
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Day 6 & 7: No restitution, just keep going...
The difficulty of a goal as simple as this one is the ease with which you can fail on any given day. Yesterday was wonderful. Yesterday was incredibly busy. Yesterday, there was no writing. So, today, will doubling up make up for it? Nope. I didn't write yesterday. However, I do want to have a story for every day, so today we get a double header, including a story that involves a mouse in a box of bisquik. Why? Because my friend told me to write a story with a mouse in a box of bisquik... simple enough.
Now, why would a mouse end up in a box full of Bisquik you might ask? It could be the ending of a complex and fascinating story, or it could be what it is, a quick look at the ingenuity of a not so smart mouse. Musk was a strange little fellow. A bit bigger than all the other mice and not quite as quick, in all departments. One day, after a visit outside with his friend Felix (it's important I tell you now that Felix is a possum), Musk decided he had an incredible idea for dealing with the family cat. It began with a trip to the cabinet, filled with a death defying and entirely instinctual run of desperation with the tabby on his tail. Breathless, he dashed through a crack and after a short stint of very labored breathing, he climbed up where he knew he'd find it - flour! Or, as you can well guess by now, Bisquik. Well, the fellow gnawed his way into the box and before long he had made quite the mess, which, not surprisingly, was exactly what he had intended to do in the first place. Now feeling quite white, and quite bold, for reasons that I won't yet share since it would defeat the purpose of me continuing the story. His strut did not cease, even as he walked out into the open floor of the kitchen. A tempting treat to the cat who had not gone far and who was now stalking him playfully and wondering a bit at why the rather plump mouse was not running. It was here that our little Musk set his plan in motion and enacted what was considered to be the worst death scene any mouse had ever seen. They were watching of course. This was also followed by the quickest dispatch of a mouse in the history of the house and a very satisfied cat. Of course, from that day forward the cat was always on the lookout for bisquik dusted mice, and strangely enough, this foolish act led to some peace and quiet for non Bisquik coated mice for at least two years, and Musk became famous, post-humously of course. And if that seems rather pointless, well, likely it is, except for those mice who found their freedom in a finicky feline with a taste for Bisquik.
& for today, Sunday the 7th... post Super Bowl, post New Orleans Saints victory over the Indianapolis Colts. One of the best Super Bowls I've seen in a long time, as well as the most enjoyable half time show I've seen in a long time. That said.... well what should I write about?
Reserved for two... Reserved for two... Reserved for two! The words echoed hollowly in their ears as they walked from restaurant to restaurant, cafe to cafe, coffee shop to coffee shop. Every place setting by sight, sound or setting marked, "For 2." And to add insult to injury in a lonely town, the words were etched on little signs at every table and every stop. Eventually, everyone found themselves gathered in one place and in an act of united misery cried out in shared sorrow. But in the midst of this "Single Awareness", couples begin to walk away from the mass to take their places around the town in the company of a special someone. Bitter eyes, longing eyes, followed every couple that developed out of this mass. Of course, given the opportunity to leave themselves they would. So, they cursed and spurned the lovers, while they themselves looked for love. Until such time as they to could sit at a table "Reserved for two."
Now, why would a mouse end up in a box full of Bisquik you might ask? It could be the ending of a complex and fascinating story, or it could be what it is, a quick look at the ingenuity of a not so smart mouse. Musk was a strange little fellow. A bit bigger than all the other mice and not quite as quick, in all departments. One day, after a visit outside with his friend Felix (it's important I tell you now that Felix is a possum), Musk decided he had an incredible idea for dealing with the family cat. It began with a trip to the cabinet, filled with a death defying and entirely instinctual run of desperation with the tabby on his tail. Breathless, he dashed through a crack and after a short stint of very labored breathing, he climbed up where he knew he'd find it - flour! Or, as you can well guess by now, Bisquik. Well, the fellow gnawed his way into the box and before long he had made quite the mess, which, not surprisingly, was exactly what he had intended to do in the first place. Now feeling quite white, and quite bold, for reasons that I won't yet share since it would defeat the purpose of me continuing the story. His strut did not cease, even as he walked out into the open floor of the kitchen. A tempting treat to the cat who had not gone far and who was now stalking him playfully and wondering a bit at why the rather plump mouse was not running. It was here that our little Musk set his plan in motion and enacted what was considered to be the worst death scene any mouse had ever seen. They were watching of course. This was also followed by the quickest dispatch of a mouse in the history of the house and a very satisfied cat. Of course, from that day forward the cat was always on the lookout for bisquik dusted mice, and strangely enough, this foolish act led to some peace and quiet for non Bisquik coated mice for at least two years, and Musk became famous, post-humously of course. And if that seems rather pointless, well, likely it is, except for those mice who found their freedom in a finicky feline with a taste for Bisquik.
& for today, Sunday the 7th... post Super Bowl, post New Orleans Saints victory over the Indianapolis Colts. One of the best Super Bowls I've seen in a long time, as well as the most enjoyable half time show I've seen in a long time. That said.... well what should I write about?
Reserved for two... Reserved for two... Reserved for two! The words echoed hollowly in their ears as they walked from restaurant to restaurant, cafe to cafe, coffee shop to coffee shop. Every place setting by sight, sound or setting marked, "For 2." And to add insult to injury in a lonely town, the words were etched on little signs at every table and every stop. Eventually, everyone found themselves gathered in one place and in an act of united misery cried out in shared sorrow. But in the midst of this "Single Awareness", couples begin to walk away from the mass to take their places around the town in the company of a special someone. Bitter eyes, longing eyes, followed every couple that developed out of this mass. Of course, given the opportunity to leave themselves they would. So, they cursed and spurned the lovers, while they themselves looked for love. Until such time as they to could sit at a table "Reserved for two."
Friday, February 5, 2010
Day 5: But I'm a Sprinter...
"But I'm a sprinter!" he screamed.
"A sprinter still needs to finish the race." she replied.
I'm a sprinter. Quick on my feet with a fairly high top speed, but rather short winded when it comes to endurance. It makes for wonderful little snapshots along the way, but it can get kind of ugly on a long run. My writing tends to be the same way, and so long as the story being told is a sprint, a 110, 220, or maybe even a 440, I'm good. But the longer the run, the uglier it gets. The more difficult it is to find those little gems and string them together into something worth calling a novella or novel. I'm no marathoner... yet! Training is the key. So, while this is a place for fun creative sprints, maybe there needs to be a place for that long marathon.
"A sprinter still needs to finish the race." she replied.
I'm a sprinter. Quick on my feet with a fairly high top speed, but rather short winded when it comes to endurance. It makes for wonderful little snapshots along the way, but it can get kind of ugly on a long run. My writing tends to be the same way, and so long as the story being told is a sprint, a 110, 220, or maybe even a 440, I'm good. But the longer the run, the uglier it gets. The more difficult it is to find those little gems and string them together into something worth calling a novella or novel. I'm no marathoner... yet! Training is the key. So, while this is a place for fun creative sprints, maybe there needs to be a place for that long marathon.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Day 4: It was somebody else's ideas...
The creativity inherent in putting the pieces together, in drawing the lines that connect events, places, times, emotions, people... What a joy when the pieces are given rather than contrived! Thus was this story received from the mouths of two friends willing to give random nouns, verbs and adjectives devoid of any knowledge that would connect one to the other. And so, the curtain rises on the Arizona desert and an impulsive and arrogant jack rabbit by the name of Hubert.
Hubie, for so he was known, was an incredible specimen for his kind. He just knew his ancestry included a jackalope somewhere in the blood line. It was the only thing to explain his incredible bound. No one knew when they had seen a rabbit with a vertical leap like his.
He came to call it his "Stellar Rising", claiming if he wanted to, he could reach the very stars. Well, one day a wise and hungry coyote came up out of the Canyon. He stumbled wearily, his paws dragging in the sand until he finally fell before the entrance to Hubie's home in hopes of a lucky meal.
Hubie leaped from the hole, leaving behind the slowly snapping jaws of an exhausted predator.
"I'm too fast for you!" he cried. "Why, with these legs I could reach the very stars."
The coyote, Salomon, as he was known in the Canyon, lifted his eyebrow in disbelief.
Hubie was irritated. "You do not believe me, I see."
The tired coyote looked up at the sky, then at Hubie. "Prove it," was all he said.
The rabbit scoffed. "I would, but I doubt you'll last the night to see the stars, must less my Stellar Rising to meet them."
"You are probably right," he replied. "Well, if the stars are lost to me, then may I witness your glory? Leap the Great Canyon, and I will be satisfied that you are worth of your hubris."
Hubie laughed aloud. So simple, he thought. He had planned to one day make the leap, for it seemed good on the other side. "So be it!" he proposed, "but we must have others to witness my 'Stellar Rising'.
Quickly he gathered all those he could find until a great group was standing witness. Lizards, Snakes, Tarantulas, and especially his jealous fellow rabbits. And there, a safe distance away, lay the dieing coyote.
"Friends, farewell! For I will not return from the other side. Follow me if you can!"
And with those words he sped to the cliff and with a great and prodigious leap he flew out into the space over the Great Canyon, but in that leap he discovered the depths of his egregious error and he fell to his death on the path below.
A raspy laugh broke the silence and the coyote rose and bounded down the path and into the canyon. He would have his dinner after all.
Hubie, for so he was known, was an incredible specimen for his kind. He just knew his ancestry included a jackalope somewhere in the blood line. It was the only thing to explain his incredible bound. No one knew when they had seen a rabbit with a vertical leap like his.
He came to call it his "Stellar Rising", claiming if he wanted to, he could reach the very stars. Well, one day a wise and hungry coyote came up out of the Canyon. He stumbled wearily, his paws dragging in the sand until he finally fell before the entrance to Hubie's home in hopes of a lucky meal.
Hubie leaped from the hole, leaving behind the slowly snapping jaws of an exhausted predator.
"I'm too fast for you!" he cried. "Why, with these legs I could reach the very stars."
The coyote, Salomon, as he was known in the Canyon, lifted his eyebrow in disbelief.
Hubie was irritated. "You do not believe me, I see."
The tired coyote looked up at the sky, then at Hubie. "Prove it," was all he said.
The rabbit scoffed. "I would, but I doubt you'll last the night to see the stars, must less my Stellar Rising to meet them."
"You are probably right," he replied. "Well, if the stars are lost to me, then may I witness your glory? Leap the Great Canyon, and I will be satisfied that you are worth of your hubris."
Hubie laughed aloud. So simple, he thought. He had planned to one day make the leap, for it seemed good on the other side. "So be it!" he proposed, "but we must have others to witness my 'Stellar Rising'.
Quickly he gathered all those he could find until a great group was standing witness. Lizards, Snakes, Tarantulas, and especially his jealous fellow rabbits. And there, a safe distance away, lay the dieing coyote.
"Friends, farewell! For I will not return from the other side. Follow me if you can!"
And with those words he sped to the cliff and with a great and prodigious leap he flew out into the space over the Great Canyon, but in that leap he discovered the depths of his egregious error and he fell to his death on the path below.
A raspy laugh broke the silence and the coyote rose and bounded down the path and into the canyon. He would have his dinner after all.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Day 3: Writing of the Day
This story brought to you by Dictionary.com's word of the day...
David pulled his fingers back across his scalp in sheer frustration.
"Nothing!" he cried.
He stared hard at the bare page as if that act itself might suddenly yield a muse to dance into life before him. But if she was there, three days of glaring had not incited her to reveal herself yet.
Exhausted, he dropped his head to the table. If this was to be his aubade, his greeting of the dawn, it seemed it was certainly going to come on the heels of a dark, dark night.
He felt her hand come to rest gently on his shoulder.
"Nothing yet, huh?"
He shook his head. She squeezed, a silent assurance. "Don't worry," she added, her voice filled with confidence he didn't feel, "it will." He raised his head to look at her, the light framing her face.
"It will."
Her smile was radiant.
And he had it, his muse, his aubade, his morning's song...
"I love you," he whispered to the dawn.
David pulled his fingers back across his scalp in sheer frustration.
"Nothing!" he cried.
He stared hard at the bare page as if that act itself might suddenly yield a muse to dance into life before him. But if she was there, three days of glaring had not incited her to reveal herself yet.
Exhausted, he dropped his head to the table. If this was to be his aubade, his greeting of the dawn, it seemed it was certainly going to come on the heels of a dark, dark night.
He felt her hand come to rest gently on his shoulder.
"Nothing yet, huh?"
He shook his head. She squeezed, a silent assurance. "Don't worry," she added, her voice filled with confidence he didn't feel, "it will." He raised his head to look at her, the light framing her face.
"It will."
Her smile was radiant.
And he had it, his muse, his aubade, his morning's song...
"I love you," he whispered to the dawn.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Day 2: Facebook, please hold...
That's about how I feel sometimes...
Facebook, conqueror of many minds, dominator of not so free time, social juggernaut for good or ill, ever present mini billboard in coffee shops around the nation! But, I only mention it because it was necessary to close it completely out of my browser to bring you this moment, this story, this fictitious event that I haven't come up with yet. What will it be?! Well, I'm asking the same question, so please be patient.
Envision, if you will, a hot cup of soul. Steaming. Ethereal. Unseen depths hidden beneath the ether. A long pale nose descends to appraise its quality, letting the drifting haze carry the aroma upward. A couple delicate sniffs, then one long draw followed by a blissful sigh.
"My, my, how delightful!"
The pale personage turns his face towards the purveyor of such a delicacy. A dazzling woman leans lazily upon the counter, her smile suggestive. A hint that never reaches her eyes.
Blissfully preoccupied he breathes deeply again.
"What character!" he exclaims. "My, my, you do spoil me."
"So it seems." Her voice is like honeyed ice. "Shall we discuss a price?"
"A price..." he chuckles, "you'll bleed me dry! But," he says waving his hand dismissively in her direction, "for this? Break me and I could care less. Name your price woman... name it."
"Done."
"Done? What do you mean done?"
"The price." He hears it, feigned innocence, but he pays it no heed.
"Fine, fine... you can tell me after."
Slowly, deliberately he raises the cup to his lips.
Her hand slides gently to his shoulder.
"Share it with me." she pleads, "let me see it in your eyes."
Such a small thing to ask, and he's growing impatient for the cup in his hands, he concedes and begins to sip, to drink more deeply and to savor as she watches. Sharing eye to eye as moment by moment, the light of his eyes dims. Only she fills his sight, until light becomes dark, and as the cup clatters to the ground, her tongue traces across her lips, enjoying the lingering flavor. Savoring it. The memory of drinking deeply. The memory of a hot cup of soul.
This little moment brought to you by the ad for a performance at Republic Coffee by Soulsville Charter School for Kids, a show, now past, called 'Hot Cup of Soul'. Inspiration can come in the strangest of places.
Facebook, conqueror of many minds, dominator of not so free time, social juggernaut for good or ill, ever present mini billboard in coffee shops around the nation! But, I only mention it because it was necessary to close it completely out of my browser to bring you this moment, this story, this fictitious event that I haven't come up with yet. What will it be?! Well, I'm asking the same question, so please be patient.
Envision, if you will, a hot cup of soul. Steaming. Ethereal. Unseen depths hidden beneath the ether. A long pale nose descends to appraise its quality, letting the drifting haze carry the aroma upward. A couple delicate sniffs, then one long draw followed by a blissful sigh.
"My, my, how delightful!"
The pale personage turns his face towards the purveyor of such a delicacy. A dazzling woman leans lazily upon the counter, her smile suggestive. A hint that never reaches her eyes.
Blissfully preoccupied he breathes deeply again.
"What character!" he exclaims. "My, my, you do spoil me."
"So it seems." Her voice is like honeyed ice. "Shall we discuss a price?"
"A price..." he chuckles, "you'll bleed me dry! But," he says waving his hand dismissively in her direction, "for this? Break me and I could care less. Name your price woman... name it."
"Done."
"Done? What do you mean done?"
"The price." He hears it, feigned innocence, but he pays it no heed.
"Fine, fine... you can tell me after."
Slowly, deliberately he raises the cup to his lips.
Her hand slides gently to his shoulder.
"Share it with me." she pleads, "let me see it in your eyes."
Such a small thing to ask, and he's growing impatient for the cup in his hands, he concedes and begins to sip, to drink more deeply and to savor as she watches. Sharing eye to eye as moment by moment, the light of his eyes dims. Only she fills his sight, until light becomes dark, and as the cup clatters to the ground, her tongue traces across her lips, enjoying the lingering flavor. Savoring it. The memory of drinking deeply. The memory of a hot cup of soul.
This little moment brought to you by the ad for a performance at Republic Coffee by Soulsville Charter School for Kids, a show, now past, called 'Hot Cup of Soul'. Inspiration can come in the strangest of places.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Day 1: Writing Challenge Month
So these mark the first ten words of this challenge.
That is technically the only requirement of each day. Well, that and taking time to sit somewhere with the sole purpose of writing and nothing else. Nothing to compete with the flow of words onto page, whether it be the flowing hand of pen on paper or the tap, tap, tap of digital henpecking. Why? Why would I submit myself to something like this? An easy answer. To walk with others down the road to a habit. A habit of writing. For can you call yourself a writer if you never write?
I believe that to be an obvious and resounding "NO!". That said, this is the beginning and may be all I manage to scratch out tonight. I'm tired, it's been a long day (though not having accomplished much), and I think I'm ready to drift off to sleep in my mostly comfortable bed. My, how 10:30 snuck up on me with far too much ease and I still must pack up this little nest at the coffee shop and head home. Because this would be a very poor, hard and cold place to sleep. I suppose that's why their chief product is a legal, addictive stimulant!
Alright, I'm satisfied that I've filled the requirement of my first day. God willing, tomorrow will bring the same success!
And the final warning as my car drives out of sight.... "Caution, this could be habit forming."
That is technically the only requirement of each day. Well, that and taking time to sit somewhere with the sole purpose of writing and nothing else. Nothing to compete with the flow of words onto page, whether it be the flowing hand of pen on paper or the tap, tap, tap of digital henpecking. Why? Why would I submit myself to something like this? An easy answer. To walk with others down the road to a habit. A habit of writing. For can you call yourself a writer if you never write?
I believe that to be an obvious and resounding "NO!". That said, this is the beginning and may be all I manage to scratch out tonight. I'm tired, it's been a long day (though not having accomplished much), and I think I'm ready to drift off to sleep in my mostly comfortable bed. My, how 10:30 snuck up on me with far too much ease and I still must pack up this little nest at the coffee shop and head home. Because this would be a very poor, hard and cold place to sleep. I suppose that's why their chief product is a legal, addictive stimulant!
Alright, I'm satisfied that I've filled the requirement of my first day. God willing, tomorrow will bring the same success!
And the final warning as my car drives out of sight.... "Caution, this could be habit forming."
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