1) Meeting people and making friends from around the world.
2) Taking part in all kinds of writing challenges that force me to get out of my comfort zone and stretch myself as a writer.
3) Opportunities to share my thoughts and beliefs with people I’d never have a chance to communicate with through any other medium.
4) Communicating with other extraordinarily creative people. Creativity begets creativity, so my own creative gifts are strengthened and stretched by that communication.
5) Opportunities to present some of my work and receive honest feedback from my peers.
6) Opportunities to lift and lighten someone else’s day by positive things I’m able to share.
7) Opportunities to make myself available to other writers and artists who would like to draw from my years of experience in the field of journalism and literature.
I’d be delighted to hear from some of the rest of you about why you love blogging. Just post your thoughts in the “Comments” section below — or if you want to write a whole post on your own site, you can share the link to it.
Hyperbole: It’s just exaggeration.
But not with the intention to deceive.
It ‘s just to make a point or emphasize,
A unique way to help someone to see.
To say the man I love is ten feet tall,
To say I’ve walked a million miles today,
To say when she stands sideways, she’s invisible –
That’s speaking in a hyperbolic way.
Of course, some people use it far to often.
And sometimes it’s as bad as old cliches.
But now and then hyperbole is perfect,
And adds a touch of ‘bling’ to what we say.
To participate in the challenge visit the Daily Post.
Today’s prompt is “Silence.” I originally wrote the piece below well over a year ago. But it fits the prompt so perfectly that I am giving it a second airing.
THE SONG OF SILENCE
My fingers touched the keys of silence, and I played its song. It pulled from me a longing that I thought was gone forever – the yearning to release my soul in flowing words that birth new life in images and sounds that intertwine and reach another soul and draw it close to mine.
I feared my well was dry, my soul an empty sieve, and that I’d nevermore know a yearning to create with words that live.
Ah … now … the peace, the solace that replaces fear. For now I know I have it still – the gift to make words living things. All it took was spending time with silence for a while, and as it’s music played, it filled my well again.
I have to confess that I’ve cheated a tad. I’m about 19 words over, but I just didn’t have any more time to spend cutting it down further.
STARTING OVER
“Looking back, I remember how easy everything was – especially communication.”
“Tell me, Grandpa.”
“Computers ran everything, including phones and automobiles.”
“Really!”
“And almost everyone could be reached by Internet.”
“I’ve heard about Internet.”
“It’s been twenty-two years since the grids went down.”
“And that shut everything down?”
“Yep. Nothing could be manufactured, vehicles couldn’t run, almost all communication shut down. Our nation had been attacked by E-bombs, and our irresponsible government had no back-ups.”
“Did we fight back?”
“Couldn’t. No way to fire missiles, no planes. And once we were down, other free nations were attacked. The whole free world reduced to walking, writing with wooden pencils, and bartering goods for food and water. Grandson … your generation has a big job ahead of it.”
My muse
Went for a snooze.
Left me to write alone.
And although on my own,
I wrote great stuff.
Aha! I’ve learned I don’t need him at all.
“Dear Muse,
You snooze; you lose.
You’re fired.”
Cee’s Share Your World challenge is a great way to get to know fellow bloggers and let them get to know you. If you’ve never participated, try it. You’ll like it. Besides, it gives you a chance to talk about yourself all you want and not feel guilty for doing so.
Question # 1: If you could hire someone to help you, would it be with cleaning, cooking, or yard work?
Definitely with yard work! I hate to do yard work, and my yard needs it desperately.
Bah Humbug!!!
Question # 2: What makes you laugh the most?
Myself. No —- just kidding. I’d have to say Old Andy Griffith shows that featured Don Knotts. I can just be thinking about some of those scenes, and I’ll start laughing right out loud — even though I can quote some whole scenes line for line, I still find them hilarious. (See video at end of this post for a sample.)
Question # 3: What was your favorite food when you were a child?
Okay, I know you all EXPECT me to say chocolate. But I’m not going to do that. The truth is that I just like food — lots of food — and almost all kinds of food. About the only things I can’t stand to eat are turnips, hominy, and head cheese. I honestly don’t remember if I had a favorite as a child, but if I did, it was probably potatoes, because, to this day, I love potatoes in any shape or form. I can eat them hot or cold or even lukewarm — boiled, fried, baked, mashed, or hashed.
Question # 4 List at least 5 favorite flowers or plants.
Okay some of my favorites — in order of preference — are as follows:
Daisies
Blue Spruce Trees
Maple Trees
Oak Trees
Mums
Bonus Question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the coming week?
I’m grateful for all the chocolate Easter candy that was on sale for half price or less last week.
Next week, I’m looking forward to having some time off from teaching so many classes at one time. Everybody needs a little rest now and then, and maybe, with my “spare time,” I can finish the novel I’m posting one chapter at a time on here.
What? You don’t think I’m serious about this recipe? Well, I assure you that I am. In fact, I’ve been writing — very successfully, I might add — for many years now using these ingredients on a regular basis.
1. A Quiet Corner:
I must have quiet when I’m creating. If I’m simply relaxing — or doing housework — or eating — I often enjoy listening to music, a TV program, or a lesson on a subject that interests me. But if I am intent on creating something with words, I do not want any conversation or music whirling around me. I want to be closed into my own private world — just me and my words — until I have received conception of and given birth to that brand new entity that has been waiting on me to bring it into the world. So this ingredient is a must.
2. A Cup of Coffee:
My, there’s just nothing that quite equals the soothing, uplifting aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. And I’m tired of hearing all the uninformed critics out there who try to make coffee drinkers feel guilty because there is an element of caffeine in coffee. I have always maintained that, since the Lord told us in Genesis that He made the seed-bearing trees and plants for us to eat, then we should be able to partake of coffee with a clear conscience and a happy heart. And let’s not forget that God made the coffee bean with the caffeine in it. We human beings did not add the caffeine the way we add so many artificial ingredients into our food. That caffeine must have some good qualities in it, or the Lord would not have put it into the bean in the first place.
Furthermore, there have been numerous medical and scientific experiments done over the past half dozen years that prove coffee has many beneficial qualities for the human body — everything from quickening our brain function to eliminating headaches as quickly as aspirin to protecting the body against several kinds of cancer and heart problems. Naturally, nothing is good for our bodies if we partake of way too much of it, to the exclusion of other important elements. But in moderation, coffee is a great blessing. And considering the fact that, in my family, a good cup of coffee has always been associated with family togetherness, wonderful fellowship, and comforting relaxation, coffee is, for sure, a substantial ingredient in the recipe.
3. Chocolate:
As with coffee, the medical field has grown in its understanding over the past decade concerning chocolate. Researchers in the field have learned that chocolate has many helpful — and healthful — benefits for our bodies. Again, we remember that everything we ingest is most helpful when taken in moderation. But there’s one more quality associated with chocolate that we must add to our evaluation of it. We need to consider the connotations associated with that delicious treat — you know: mother’s love, romantic love, comfort, and a little extra surge of energy. Now, given all those positives, why would anyone want to leave chocolate out of the recipe?
Combine all ingredients in whatever ratios make you happy.
So there you have it folks. There’s just no other recipe quite so perfect for the dedicated, committed creative writer. And if you haven’t yet tried this particular recipe, you should. You’ll be surprised at just how well you write when you partake of these ingredients.
Writing provides a means of misbehaving.
Subtle opportunities to break the rules.
To do and say some things the trusty conscience hides,
Writing offers handy, beneficial tools.
Create a story set within the printed world,
With characters who get away with awful deeds.
Or frame a poem lightly metered, gently rhymed,
That tells a ghastly tale, or implants evil seeds.
Making use of words that in our normal life
Would get our mouths washed out with bitter soap.
But placed within the covers of a published book
They’re labeled art while huddled safely between quotes.
Our guys and gals can get away with awful crimes:
Can steal, molest, and plunder, rape, and kill.
Atrocities abounding can be made life-like,
Yet all is well if readers get a thrill.
Yes, in real life, we have to mind our manners well,
And smile and bow and act as though we’re saints.
But on the printed page we can write brazenly
And be forgiv’n for throwing off restraints.
Just got to thinking today that so many of our stories have characteristics and qualities that are both generic and universal. I decided to experiment a little with writing a story using nonsense terms instead of normal nouns and verbs. I’m certain you will be able to understand the story with very little trouble. It was fun, and I think it helps focus on the fact that sometimes it isn’t just choosing the right word that matters. It’s how we put those words together into a setting that gets the job done.
Public Domain — Artist: Friedrich-Johann-Justin-Bertuch
THE BONDO DELAFOR
The young delafor wandered through the cogem, wishing he could find a delafora to be his rhuba. He’d heard the fonders tell of bondo delafors who had won the hands of delaforas by zonering the terrible goganbulls. He knew the goganbulls were threatening the cogem, and many delafors were terrizon of them. He didn’t know if he were bondo enough to zoner a goganbull or not, but he hoped he’d have a chance.
One day the great kinba of the cogem announced that a goganbull had been spotted just outside the cogem. The great kinba porsayed that he would give the most beautiful delafora to the delafor who zonered that goganbull.
So the young delafor raced to his stetsa, hopped on, and took off to find the goganbull and zoner it. When he found the goganbull, it was maxma! It was so maxma that the young delafor’s stetsa reared up, threw the delafor off, and ran away. Now the only thing the delafor had was his pontier. So he looked the goganbull in the eye, stood up straight and tall and shumed toward him. Keeping eye contact, he shumed all the way to within two feet of him. The goganbull gloamed and hot smeltz came from his buzzle.
But the young delafor rememberd the beautiful delafora who was porsayed by the great kinba. The delafor wanted that delafora for his rhuba very badly. So he aimed his pontier and shumed the last two feet toward the goganbull; then he flumed his pontier right into the goganbulls corva. With one horrible gloam, the goganbull fell over, and black smoke roold from his buzzle. Then all was quiet.
The young delafor took his pontier and whapped off the goganbull’s henda and carried it back to the great kinba. That day the young delafor won the most beautiful delafora in the cogem to be his very own rhuba. And they both lived schnookumy ever after.
Well, it all started one night when I was bored with every story/novel/poem I’d been working on over the past several months. I wasn’t suffering from that somewhat vague malady known as “writer’s block.” No – I was just bored. I couldn’t seem to make myself work on any one piece that was currently under construction, yet I didn’t want to give up and walk away from the keyboard in a funk. Now, I did walk away from the keyboard, but it was mainly for the purpose of walking around in order to think better.
Suddenly, it hit me! “Sandra,” I said to myself out loud, “you are constantly telling your students that if they find themselves struggling to write on a current project, then that’s an excellent time to pull out one of those writing exercises and throw themselves into it with abandon. So practice what you preach, girl. Just clear your head of everything you’ve been struggling with, sit down at the keyboard, and write down the first two words that pop into your mind. After that you know the rules keep writing until you feel like you’re done.”
Now, this particular exercise is one that I enjoy using in my creative writing classes because I am always amazed at what my students come up with in the end. Of course, there are a few students who hold themselves back and don’t give their imagination totally free rein, but most of them throw themselves into the exercise whole-heartedly to get all the fun out of it that they can. I’ve made myself do such exercises a number of times and have had some really good results and some not so good, but each time, I at least felt refreshed after having done the work-out. And, in all honesty, a work-out is exactly what we’re talking about. These kinds of exercises do the same for a writer’s mind, imagination, and creativity as a physical work-out does for his body. And I keep reminding my students that sometimes the simplest, “silliest” writing exercise can end up netting them one of the best books they will ever write.
So I did it! Now, I do keep lists of words, phrases, and short sentences that I can go to and use as prompts for such exercises, but that particular night, I felt that if I took time to hunt for one of my lists (and at my house, I have to hunt for anything that hasn’t been used in the last three days), I might give up before I got started. So, trying to keep my mind in neutral, I sat down, and instantly grabbed the first two words that popped up when my bottom hit the seat. And – wouldn’t you know – the first two words that popped into my mind came at me out of nowhere: “peanut shells.”
Don’t anyone ask me why. I haven’t a clue. I hadn’t been eating peanuts, nor had I been craving them. In fact, I would have said they were the farthest thing from my mind. But, all of a sudden, out of the clear blue, here I was – faced with those two stupid words to write about. Well, I’m not a wimp, and I hate to accept defeat without even fighting, so I opened a new document, sat up straighter in my chair, took a deep breath, and wrote – literally not pausing to think about what I was writing – but just tapping out one word after another as it rushed out.
Within ten minutes, I realized that I had the kernel of a whole story, but it wasn’t until I had written for about 30 minutes that I realized I had the makings of a complete novel in front of me. The story unfolded, one part after another, in my mind, and by the time I’d finished typing the first chapter, I was captivated with it.
To be honest, I felt slightly guilty for putting aside all the other things I had been working on, but that guilt didn’t last long. I tell my students that they need to go with the flow of their own creativity. No matter how many pieces they are working to complete, if, suddenly, something new rises up out of their soul, and it is truly alive and growing, then they need to give themselves to it and see where it takes them.
Now, that is not to say that I don’t teach them discipline as well. There are times when we do have to take the bull by the horns, so to speak, and just make ourselves complete a task we’ve started. However, we have to recognize, as well, that every single thing we begin to write may not be a piece that has enough life in it to keep growing and come to maturity. There’s also a time and place to say, “This piece is not what I thought it was, and I don’t want to devote any more of my time and creativity to trying to make it into something it can’t become.”
However, in my case, I knew I would return to all the projects that I had set aside. They were stories that I believed in and actually wanted to finish – but not right then – because this new story – the “Peanut Shell” story, had captured my heart, and I wasn’t about to throw away such a jewel or let it lie on the shelf to collect dust.
For several weeks, I wrote on the story, using the working title “Peanut Shells.” I knew, of course, that the final title would be something different, and before too long, I knew exactly what it would be. I won’t give away the reason for choosing that title, because I want the readers to discover it for themselves as they move through the story. But, needless to say, it has something to do with God’s Word and His promises. Yes, A Quiver Full of Arrows is another of my inspirational novels that lets us see God at work in our every-day lives, caring about all the little things that matter to us, and giving us help and deliverance through the power of His Word when we need it.
I tell my students that when they give themselves to a writing exercise such as the one I’ve described and make themselves keep writing without stopping to plan or make decisions – and without stopping to make corrections – they are allowing things from deep inside of them to come to the surface and come out in what they write. When they abandon themselves, with no restraints and no rules except to keep writing, ideas and images pop up inside and come rushing out while no one is standing guard with the normal rules of “good writing.”
Because I pray regularly for the Lord to give me the stories He wants me to write – and to help me create the works that will fulfill His will and His desire to help people – and that will give Him glory – I believe that when I end up with a story likeA Quiver Full Of Arrows, I have the Lord Himself to thank for it. I may have been engaging in a writing exercise, but as I freed myself from all the self-imposed restraints of “good writing,” I allowed His Spirit to pour through me all the ideas that He wanted to include in that story.
So, there you have it, dear readers. That’s exactly how it happened. I can’t take credit for a whole lot of it. Of course, in the weeks that followed day one, I did have to start thinking and planning and checking on facts — especially for a couple of events that needed to take place. And, once the story was finished, I had to do the normal pruning and polishing. But none of that activity would have been possible if I had not sat down and played around with that simple exercise. I started with peanuts; somewhere before the end of chapter two, I had a quiver; and by the time I got to the words “The End,” my quiver was full of arrows.
I do hope my readers enjoy the book. Personally, I think it’s one of the best novels I’ve ever written. And it’s the kind of book that almost anyone will enjoy – unless your appetite is for horror or moral degeneration. But I have to warn you: as you read it, you just might find yourself getting hungry for some peanuts, so better stock up when you buy the book.
St. Ellen Press has just recently published it in digital format as well, and you can find it at the Kindle Store on Amazon for only $2.99. If you purchase a copy and read it, please go on the site and write a brief review for me. Buy one for a friend as well. And don’t forget to get your friend a bag of peanuts.
~~~
P. S. By the way, if you do not have an e-reader, but would like to read digital books, you can download a free app from Amazon that will let you read any and all e-books on your own personal computer.
I’m still working on narrowing down the list of short stories for the anthology that’s coming out later this summer. It’s called Stories That Leave You Thinking, and I posted re-runs of several of my stories a couple weeks ago in case you readers could give me some feedback about any of them that you liked or didn’t like. Here’s six more — totally different from what I posted last time. If you read any of these that you especially like or especially don’t like, let me know. It may help me with my final decision. I’m not choosing from all my stories. The ones for this book have to be stories that deal with a thought-provoking subject or that end in such a way that the reader is left to decide exactly what happened — or what is going to happen soon.
Two old cronies sat on a bench at the edge of a small city park, their 78-year-old bones soaking up the sunshine.
“Ahhh, just smell that!” Harry said, taking in a deep breath, rapture shining from his face.
“What?” asked George.
“Love is in the air,” Harry replied, breathing deeply once more and smiling. “Mm-mm; Yes sir – love is in the air.”
“You’re daff, Harry. That’s just the cabbage cookin’ in the diner across the street. Wind’s from the south today.”
“Oh, come on, George, don’t be so mundane. Give yourself over to your senses, man.”
“Senses? Why, Harry, you ain’t got the good sense God gave a duck.”
Looking offended: “Why would you say that?”
“Well, look at you. 78 and a half, if you’re a day, and you’re sittin’ here on this comfortable bench with not a care in the world, but you’re talkin’ about love like it was somethin’ glorious and somethin’ you want.”
“Well, it is somethin’ I want.”
“No it ain’t. You done had it – four wives — and all it did was cost you lots of money – first for getting’ married, then for buyin’ houses, then for buyin’ your wives everything they wanted, then for the divorces, and now – every month – for the alimony – four alimonies.”
“But it’s Spring, Harry! Don’t that make you feel alive and ready to take a chance on love again?”
“No, it don’t! I’ve had it with love. It’s three square meals a day, a nice warm bench to rest on, and a trustworthy buddy or two that makes life worth livin’. Those things are better than what you call love any day.”
“Well, I do remember hearin’ a quote by somebody once that said havin’ all your own teeth and a good solid bank account beat marriage for makin’ a body happy.”
Nodding his head, George answered. “There you go. Now you’re talkin’ sense. And since we both have our own teeth still yet, and money in our pockets, what say we go across the street for a big helping of Archie’s corned beef and cabbage? It’s smellin’ so good right now my stomach’s growling.”
Sighing, Harry got up from the bench. “Okay, George. I guess it is time for lunch, but I still say I can smell love in the air.”
“It’s the corned beef and cabbage, you dope. Cain’t you tell the difference?”
“George, my friend,” Harry said, placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder as they jiggled their legs to work out the stiffness, “It may smell like corned beef and cabbage to you, but it’s got magic in it. In fact, I have this feelin’ that love is just around the corner for me.”
They both started across the street, but just as they reached the center of the road, a car came swerving around the corner and squealed to a halt, just missing George and knocking Harry flat. A beautiful woman jumped from the car and ran to kneel down beside Harry.
“Oh, sir, are you alive? Are you alive?”
Harry opened his eyes, looked up into her delightful face with its halo of golden curls, and grinned broadly. “By golly, I told George love was just around the corner.” He got up and dusted himself off. Taking the young woman’s arm, he escorted her to the curb. “How about I buy you lunch, pretty lady,” he said, beaming at her. “Let’s step into the diner, here, and talk about our future.”
George followed them into the diner but went to sit at the lunch counter all by himself, shaking his head in frustration.
“What’ll you have?” Archie asked him.
“Confound it! Just give me a order of that love potion you got brewin’ in there.”
“Huh?”
“You know – that derned corned beef and cabbage.”
~~~
Story # 2: FOR LOVE OF BERNADETTE
Herbie was a barber. He was good at his job, and he had customers from all over the county. But Herbie didn’t like his job. He’d inherited the business from his father, but he’d never enjoyed it.
What he really wanted to do was own a dairy farm. Every evening when he finished work, he drove out of town and cruised by Old Man Swagle’s farm, looking at the fields of cows and the neat homestead – and dreaming.
Sometimes he’d stop, walk to the fence, and pet the cows. They knew him by now and came to him, but there was one particular brown and white lady who made sure she got the most of his attention. It made him feel loved.
If only he could manage to buy the farm. Old Man Swagle had put it on the market last year, but so far no one had met his price. Herbie had some money saved, and he’d talked to the bank about a mortgage, but Isabelle, his betrothed, said he’d be a fool to leave a secure business and go into debt for a cow farm. He used to love to talk about his dream, but lately, he’d just stopped mentioning it to Isabelle. He didn’t like the quarrels it led to. Sometimes he wondered …. But … they’d been engaged a whole year. It wouldn’t be right to back out now.
One afternoon, when Herbie didn’t have any appointments, he spent a couple hours sitting on the fence, talking to the cows and petting his favorite. As he glanced toward the farmhouse, he saw Swagle’s 11-year-old grandaughter came running across the field. He knew she visited often, and today she hailed him. “Hi,” she said. “Grandpa sent me to fetch Bernadette.”
“Oh, is that her name?”
“Yep. Grandpa let me name her.” She gave him a speculative look. “ My Grandpa said you want to buy this farm.”
“He did, huh? Well he’s right, but I don’t think I can.”
“Oh,” she said, hanging her head in disappointment. “I sure wish you could buy it.” She looked up. “My Grandpa is getting really tired and wants to come into town and live at my house with me and Mommy and Daddy. I stayed all night last night, and I heard Grandpa praying a long time that God would send someone today to buy the farm and take care of the cows the way he does.”
Herbie felt tears rush to his eyes.
“Why can’t you buy it?” she asked.
He cleared his throat. “Well … the lady I’m going to marry doesn’t want to live on a farm.”
“But you love cows. I can tell. I’ve watched you petting them and talking to them.”
Herbie nodded.
“And you’d keep them and take care of them just like Grandpa does.”
Herbie nodded again. “If I could buy the farm.”
They were both quiet for a few moments — each lost in personal thoughts. Finally, she looked up at him with determination in her eyes.
“You know what I think?” she said.
“What?”
“I think you should tell that dumb lady to marry someone else, and you should come and live here with Bernadette.”
Herbie looked at the child thoughtfully for a few moments. Then a huge grin spread across his face. Suddenly, he hopped off the fence and jogged toward his car.
“Where you goin’?” the girl called after him.
Herbie glanced back over his shoulder, but he didn’t stop. “To the bank!”
~~~
Story # 3: GOODBYE, SNOOKY
“Here we are, folks: the legendary bar where Snooky Adams was gunned down by his partner, Lila Corbell.” The young tour guide positioned himself against the bar to imitate the gangster, leaning on one elbow and scanning the group with a cocky light in his eyes. He was dressed in Snooky’s signature red turtle-neck and gray, pinstriped jacket, his hair slicked back in Snooky’s oily-smooth style. The resemblance was perfect — disturbingly so.
He continued to relate the history of Snooky and Lila, the gangster’s lover and partner in crime. As he came to the events that led to Snooky’s last minutes, he turned from the audience and looked into the wide mirror behind the bar, intending to make eye contact with his group again via that reflection. But instead, as his eyes focused in the mirror, he suddenly shouted, “Lila!”
His audience jerked heads to look behind them at the same second the shots rang out. But seeing no one else in the room, they all turned back to their guide. He was on the floor, three bullet holes in his chest.
Lila’s reflection lingered in the mirror, smoking gun in hand. The tour group stood speechless, thinking surely this was a staged production. But the gruesome realization that the bullets had entered the guide’s chest, rather than his back, struck them completely dumb. While they stood entranced, the guide bled his life out onto the scuffed wooden floor, and Lila, a satisfied smile on her lips, faded from the mirror.
~~~
Story # 4: WHAT IF?
“What’s the latest report?” Oneida asked Tron.
“The planet Verdure is still in a state of internal combustion,” he replied, his face pinched. He looked at the camera relay screen. “Watching that planet disintegrate right before my eyes and knowing I can’t stop it is tearing my guts out.”
“How long do we have?”
“I’ll know more when Beryl and Oma return. They’re out measuring the light levels in the power garden.”
“That red gas is our main enemy?”
“Yes, as our energy pods absorb it, their energy – the energy that holds this planet together – is drained off and absorbed by the gas.”
He panned the camera across the power garden of mushroom-shaped growths from which the planet drew all of its life. “See how many of the healthy purple pods have absorbed the gas until they have turned red and shrunk to half their original size?”
He panned to the pod where Beryl and Oma were still at work. Oneida spoke: “Look, Oma’s starting to descend. Maybe they’ll be back with their report soon.”
“Yes, but I’m not sure I want to hear it. Sometimes, I think we should turn off all the surveillance equipment so we can’t see it all happening one step at a time. Perhaps we should all just gather in the communal hall and do our best to comfort each other until it comes.”
“Until the end comes, do you mean?”
“Of course! What else?”
She looked at him gravely. “I’ve been thinking ….”
“Yes …?”
“Well … I’ve been wondering … Did we just happen?” Tron looked at her quizzically, and she continued: “I mean … well … I find it hard to believe this whole planet of Mushroom just happened – and that all of us who live here were non-existent one second and then – bang – here we were!” She looked at him hopefully.
“I don’t think I’m following you. What does it have to do with Verdure’s decomposition and destruction of everything within its electro-magnetic sphere?”
“Don’t you see? If we didn’t just … happen … then someone or something more intelligent, more creative, more powerful than ourselves had to have created us. And if that someone cared enough to make us, then wouldn’t it – or he – care enough to save us?”
Tron’s eyes grew large. Oneida could see that it was a concept he’d never imagined. But now … with no other possible avenue of hope … perhaps even he thought it was worth considering.
She continued. “I guess I’m wondering if we were to look back in all the records of Mushroom – especially the copies of those old black books the leaders buried underground last century — ”
“You mean you think there might be answers to our origins in those books? But the leaders insisted that they were lies and made it illegal for any citizen of Mushroom to read them.”
“But what if we could find out … and … what if … just what if we learned that there was a creator … and we could find a way to connect with him —”
“That’s impossible!”
“Is it? Our survival is impossible as we are now. But, just think, Tron … What if ….?”
~~~
Story # 5: THROUGH GEOFFREY’S WINDOW
Special thanks to Bob Mielke at Northwest Photographerfor his gracious permission to use this picture, which inspired the story. We used this photo for the cover of an eariler anthology which featured this story as well.
“Oh, look!” Sally called out to her brother as she ran toward the odd wooden door that had a window with a giraffe painted on it. Jackie followed more slowly.
“That’s sure a funny-lookin’ door,” he said. “It isn’t hooked to any walls.” His eyes searched the area on either side of the door. “And, look … there’s nothing behind it either!”
“But it has a pretty window,” Sally answered.
By that time, they both stood before the door, staring up at the giraffe in the window. Suddenly the giraffe spoke: “Hello, there.”
The children sucked in their breath at the same time and looked at each other with eyes made huge by the shock.
“Did you hear that?” Jackie asked.
Sally nodded and turned back toward the window. “Did you say something, Mr. Giraffe?”
“Yes, I did. I said Hello.”
“Oooh, Helloooo!” Sally said. “We didn’t know you were real.”
“Well, I’m not real to everybody, of course.”
“You’re not?”
“No, no. In fact, most people just pass right on by and never even stop to look at me, so I remain just a picture to them.”
“Then why are you real for us?” Jackie asked, skepticism in his young voice.
“Because you believe in make-believe,” the giraffe replied.
“May we come in?” Sally asked.
“Don’t be so dumb, Sally,” Jackie said, taking hold of her arm. “There’s nothing behind the door.”
“I’m back here,” said the giraffe.
Sally reached up and turned the knob.
+ + +
Suddenly jolted out of her reverie by the ringing of the phone on her desk, Sally jumped. She had been reminiscing again. She smiled. She did love to remember how it had all started some twenty years ago. She picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
“Hey, sis, how’s it going?”
“Great. Just finished the 10th book in the series.”
Jack laughed on the other end of the line. “I just can’t get over it, Sis. Who would have thought your turning that doorknob to step into Geoffrey Giraffe’s world would have landed you nine best-selling children’s books.”
“Well, Geoffrey was so grateful, you know. He had lived in there for so many years with no one believing, and was so lonely for friends.”
“He certainly found a faithful one in you. And your Through Geoffrey’s Window series has made him famous.”
“Yes. And now thousands of children believe. You know, I think it’s about time I went back for another visit. I’ll read him this new story, and I know he’ll love it.”
~~~
Story # 6: CELLO LOVE
They’d met at a rehearsal in this very theater. He, with his polished coat of dark walnut, was instantly captivated by her honey-maple coloring – but even more so by the sweet voice she gave to every note assigned her in the performances. Standing beside her during a performance always brought out something in his own tonal quality that he knew would not have been there if he hadn’t been playing to impress her. And as the sounds from each of them blended in the symphonies, his heart soared.
Eventually, bravely, he’d professed his love to her, and she’d responded exactly as he’d hoped. From that moment, their harmony became something so rare that many a conductor had commented on it to the musicians who owned them, and they had made exquisite music together for 74 years.
Now, with their respective masters in their graves, the two aging instruments rested against the wall of an old closet behind the stage of the theater that had been home to so many of their performances. His coat was battered and marred significantly. But her luster still had the power to draw music from him every time he looked at her. They sighed quietly – in unison. They still had each other – and the music that lived within them. His strings touched hers in a gentle caress. Her instant response released the beginning notes of a new song.
Outside, people slowed their stride as they passed the old theater. “There it is again,” said one young lady, as she stopped and inclined her head toward the old building. Others stopped. “Do you hear it?” she asked them. They nodded, looking at her oddly because the theater was completely dark, and the doors had been boarded up.
An elderly gentlemen ambled toward them and stopped as soon as he heard the music. “Aaahhh, yes, I thought it was about the right time.”
The young woman looked at him. “So you were expecting to hear it too?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Every evening.”
“That’s what’s so strange,” she said. “Every night, I’m sure I hear music coming from inside — some of the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard. But there is never anyone there.”
The old man smiled. “My dear, there may not be any people inside, but somewhere within these old walls, there is still love. And where there is love, my dear, there is always music.”
Hyperbole: It’s just exaggeration.
1. A Quiet Corner:
My, there’s just nothing that quite equals the soothing, uplifting aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. And I’m tired of hearing all the uninformed critics out there who try to make coffee drinkers feel guilty because there is an element of caffeine in coffee. I have always maintained that, since the Lord told us in Genesis that He made the seed-bearing trees and plants for us to eat, then we should be able to partake of coffee with a clear conscience and a happy heart. And let’s not forget that God made the coffee bean with the caffeine in it. We human beings did not add the caffeine the way we add so many artificial ingredients into our food. That caffeine must have some good qualities in it, or the Lord would not have put it into the bean in the first place.
As with coffee, the medical field has grown in its understanding over the past decade concerning chocolate. Researchers in the field have learned that chocolate has many helpful — and healthful — benefits for our bodies. Again, we remember that everything we ingest is most helpful when taken in moderation. But there’s one more quality associated with chocolate that we must add to our evaluation of it. We need to consider the connotations associated with that delicious treat — you know: mother’s love, romantic love, comfort, and a little extra surge of energy. Now, given all those positives, why would anyone want to leave chocolate out of the recipe?
The Happy Wordcrafter 