by MD Maurice
Reflections and ruminations from a modern day Alice - Life is Wonderland
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Day 2859: September 14, 2020
Prompt: Write about moving.
We've moved into our new home just going on three years ago now. It took about an full year for us to fully and completely be settled. We moved from an very urban area. Our old home was a 1930's era colonial off the main street about 5 or 6 mins from the downtown area of a small city. The drive to our new place takes us past open fields of farm land before turning into our neighborhood of wide streets and wooded lots. The new property has many mature trees and a yard with a natural flow. The quiet has taken some getting used too. The soundtrack seemed to be missing the hum of traffic and the occasional emergency siren. I have come to love our quiet, residential street with neighbors we wave to on walks, the visits from wild turkey and deer and all of the birds. Moving sucks no matter how you manage it but we definitely made the right decision, a truth that became all the more apparent after two months of quarantine.
I would have lost my mind in our old place. The back deck became a refuge for me during that time. I delighted in watching the birds, discovering that we had an army of yellow finches that swooped down from the trees and ravaged the feeders. It was so calming, in the midst of all the chaos of a world turned upside down over night. I appreciated their bustle and drama as we secluded ourselves from much of the world outside. I don't know how we would have managed at the old place, with our tiny yard and the proximity of the looming apartment houses with their haunting turnover of new faces. I am so grateful we made the move when we did. It had been daunting and scary. It had been exhausting and had taxed us to our limits but today, I can say it had all been for the very best.
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DAY 2234--September 14, 2020
Prompt: Ray Bradbury advises in Zen in the Art of Writing, “You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.”
If reality is so bad and destructive, which I agree that it can be at times, why are we seeking it under the guise of believable factor in the books we read and the movies we watch? What is your opinion on the matter?
I used to think I wrote to escape life. I would get caught up in a piece and forget whatever real drama was waiting outside the door for me. My early pieces were departures from my reality. As I began to write more seriously, I found more and more of myself in my stories. I found myself echoing my life. Writing became the way I processed things that happened to me. It was my way of cleaning house, mentally. I believe people seek out authenticity in movies and novels some times because maybe it helps with their own self-reflection in much the same way. Maybe watching something play out in the hands and hearts of other characters is a way of processing our own emotions and reactions. I tend to get the most feedback over the non-fictional pieces I publish more often then any other genre I write in. I can't tell you how many times I've been told a reader could "totally relate" to something I'd written. I think all of us are looking for common connections in life.