If I am anything, I am a sad man. Some would say I am predisposed to such disquiet. They may be correct in their prognosis. It is not that I never laugh or smile. I laugh at television commercials over and over again. I find humor in most things. And yet, for all of that, I seem to wear a mantel of gloom. If you read my writing you will see what I mean.
I would venture to say that many of my fellow writers are wired the same way. Who knows why it is so? Could it be that we are the ingredient that makes the dish a little more special?
With humility, I thank each and every one of you who prayed or wished my wife well. The good news is, they did find something. There was an area in the stomach lining that would ooze blood when water was sprinkled on it. They repaired that one but believe there are probably more in a section of the bowl they may not have the equipment to reach. Is it not amazing that you have fifteen feet of the lower bowl? They plan to give her a capsule that will travel the bowl taking pictures, and if they fid more they will repair as they go. Technology blows my mind. When all is complete, she could be on the road to recovery very soon. Again, thank you all.
It is a quiet evening down in South Louisiana where my wife and I live. For the last few weeks, we have seen more rain and warmer temps than is generally considered normal for this time of year. Of course, warm weather and mild winters are nothing new to the South.
Tomorrow, my wife has a Doctor’s appointment where a certain procedure will be done to endeavor to find where she may be bleeding internally. For the last six weeks or so she has been getting weaker and weaker, hardly able to walk. Her legs will not carry her for more than about five yards until she has to sit and rest. It seems that in these past weeks we have been to every specialist known to man. All have been stymied by her symptoms,
Offering little encouragement and sending on to the next doctor. Her oncologist did fid that her iron levels were almost non-existent. He suspicioned that she might be bleeding internally. Tomorrow’s procedure will seek to find if such is the case. It may sound strange to say, but I hope she spouts a gusher. At least then we have found the problem and can repair it, hopefully.
For those of you who pray, please do so for her. At least keep her in your thoughts if you can spare a few moments.
If there was a place in time where you could visit, where would it be? Where would you choose to go? Would you choose to visit some ancient time that you have only read about in history books, or would you stay closer to home and revisit things familiar and dear to you, family, childhood friends, and those with whom you spent what seemed to be those endless Summers of bike riding and sandlot baseball? There is one very important thing I must reveal to you concerning your sojourn; you could only visit in the capacity of an observer. Those that you observed could not see or know in any way that you were present. They would be real in their time and you would be the shadow. Can you imagine walking down the old brick sidewalk that led to where you lived in that far away time? How your heart would tremble to see through the warm glow of twilight windows your mother and yourself watching television. And though the urge to knock upon the door and hear their voices once again would be herculean to resist, you could not, for they could not see you. You might run upon those same well-worn sidewalks calling out the dearest names, but none could hear. You would be alone with only the image of a memory.
I must admit without equivocation, that if such a thing were possible, I would be the first to volunteer. I feel very strongly that there would be many just like myself. It would seem most obvious with the many stories that have been written over time, that men possess a deep longing and affection for their past, especially as the sand dwindles in the glass. One of my personal favorite stories is an interview I saw with writer Rod Serling. When asked what his favorite storyline was, he stated succinctly that it was the idea of going back to where it all began, to touch the garment of our past and experience again those wonderful carefree years.
As I am growing older I increasingly long for those years. Who knows how long it might be until I cross over the threshold of undulating time. I can only hope that those years wait to embrace their long-absent son.
Call me old fashioned if you will, but I will not read or review a story where the author feels the need to use the F word in every other sentence. And don’t any of you get cute because you know exactly what word I mean. In my younger days, before I knew which end was up, that word was a mainstay of my vocabulary. I thank God above for washing out my filthy mouth and giving me the intelligence to speak correctly and politely. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have no intention to come off all holier than thou. If someone rubs me the wrong way, I can whip up more sarcasm than you might care to hear. However, I will never use that word in any context. Oh yes, I can just hear some who will say that it is just the way people speak these days. I’ve got news for you, the F word has been a part of language for a long time. It didn’t originate in the Twentieth Century. Apparently, it hasn’t lost any of its appeal or popularity. It could be that those who use it the most have the most limited vocabulary. I realize that such is not the case, but it sure gets some people’s goats when you put it that way. As Bugs Bunny used to say, “Ain’t I a stinker?
Finally, I just want to say that using foul language in your stories and prose is in no way necessary. The Screen Writers of some of the greatest movies ever made managed to get the job done without such flotsam. I’m certain any intelligent writer can tap out excellent work buy keeping it clean. Truth be known, most people don’t want to hear that garbage anyway.
Did I mention this in some news feed past? I am just about positive I did, but it could not hurt to post a little refresher. That leads me to something I like to do from time to time; I call it 'cold writing.' I usually engage in this activity when I have no particular subject in mind upon which to write. It is a practice that helps to keep the fingers limber and possibly stir up some latent ideas. Of course, you may have heard of this practice before, and possibly from me as I am a fervent proponent.
Now, just sit down at your computer or typewriter and begin to write whatever comes to mind. Whatever you write does not have to conform to any particular theme. The primary function is to get the idea mill machinery moving. Whether your mill turns out the product of your desire or not is not the point. The point is that the wheels keep turning and the spinners keep spinning. When at any time your cerebral machinery is allowed to sit idle, it will prove more difficult to get the gears turning again.
Now, here is a thought for any of you looking for ideas upon which to build a story or poem. It will be to your advantage to keep abreast of what is being said and talked about throughout WDC. Obviously, it is always good to do a little reviewing to keep your cerebral machinery humming. Also, read the latest newsfeeds and check out what people are talking about. Reading the newsfeed is just another way of people watching, and we all realize how profitable that can be for the imagination.
In any case, there are untapped resources in those things mentioned here. You say that you are in a slump and can’t come up with any ideas? Look around, my friend, the ideas actually do abound in every nook and cranny. How you extract and utilize them is up to you.