Being Remembered

She told my wife it reminded her of me.

So, I’ve been feeling down. It’s the whole pandemic thing. It’s kept me locked up with my children, whom I love, but need a little time away from. It’s kept me locked away from the people I serve in my ministry. This week, my church council (wisely, I think) decided to keep the doors of the church closed for almost another month.

And then my wife went to a meeting. There was some business she had to do with a few other women. Good. Get her away from the kids for a little bit.

She came back bearing this bottle of wine: Continue reading “Being Remembered”

Begin Again

So I had to write a story.

OK, I didn’t have to, but there was a call for submissions I wanted to, um, submit to, which meant I had to write a story to do so.

The story started out one way. And sure, it was a nifty enough story, but it didn’t fit the call for submission. So I scrapped it.

Try #2: I got a good five thousand word story out of it, but it felt weak. And, again, it didn’t fit the call. That meant it would likely get rejected. Try again.

Try #3: Finally! I’ve got a good character, a good plot, it fits the call, looks good.

But it really needs some work. Subplot B needs to get moved over here, and subplot C should probably just get dropped.

About five drafts later I finally send it out. Continue reading “Begin Again”

Held Captive by a Story

There are certain stories I can’t get out of my head. They’re rather insidious, laying eggs in my brain like some sort of Lovecraftian monster redesigned by the unholy lovechild of H. R. Giger and Steve Carell. The eggs hatch and latch onto my various creativity glands and refuse to let go.

And thus there are certain stories I return to over and over again.

I wrote a novel… oh, gosh, years ago. The rough draft of the novel is about as old as my first child.

Now I feel old.

Why do I hurt myself like this? Continue reading “Held Captive by a Story”

Stories End

There’s always a final syllable.

Turn the page.

Nothing but white space.

The world painted by words ends in one final image. The characters are put in their places. The landscapes pause. There is no more.

You can attempt to imagine what comes next. Perhaps the author will return at some later date to continue the journey of one or more character, extending the existence of that world. But eventually, every story, every world, ends.

My grandfather died today. Continue reading “Stories End”