Nobody told me it was this hard!
But, you have to write every day. Right? Even if not always working on a novel or longer piece, you don’t want to get out of the habit.
If your like me, your mind does a lot of jumping from one thought to another. I should write about the old guy I saw sitting alone in the restaurant or the overheard conversation in the beauty parlor while waiting for my wife. Maybe my thoughts on a bright spring day walking the bike path, or even a little bolder, the story I could make up after reading a New York Times Obituary when I reacted, “Boy, there’s got to be a story there.” Or, like everyone–I’ve got a couple of weird story-worthy uncles too.
Well, that’s the kind of stuff you’ll find here. Short stuff, and sometimes things I learned while studying the craft of writing over the past six years.
A dark oasis of spiked pines pokes above the sea of maples and poplars on the surrounding hills. The subtle hues of green will soon be ocean swells protecting the valley like a comforter. Stark grey sticks reach skyward, straining to be like their green sisters, to remind us of a harsh winter not long gone. Small openings offer a glimpse of flowering cherry and apple trees; they are teasers for the summer yet to come.
I sit awhile in the gazebo. Fallen trees that did not survive the winter lie beneath the water of a shallow pond like underwater sea serpents. A twiggy branch stretches above the water, a precarious perch for chickadees. A slab of trunk breaks the surface, a sun porch for turtles and frogs.