I find it difficult to maintain a positive, creative mood for an extended period of time. Issues of worth are always seeping in; exhaustion is always creeping around the corner of my mind, readying to build it’s walls all around my creativity; that monster Reality is always whispering into my ear that you should set your sights somewhere more realistic, somewhere that is full of job-security and social acceptance and banal conversation. These demons always appear, given time, but I can usually count on them showing up just after I’ve passed that midway hump in whatever project I’m working on. And when they do, cerebrally, it becomes very difficult to continue. What’s the point, is the common refrain at this time; it’s repeated so often it almost becomes a daily maxim.
That’s why it is so refreshing to find commonality in those you admire, those you respect, those that have surpassed the level of creativity you didn’t even know existed. Bill Watterson, of Calvin and Hobbes fame, confirmed this for me recently. Check out the strip here. It is beautiful.
I’m surprised and pleased with the tales in this decade. Probably the strongest decade-as-a-whole so far. Makes me excited for what’s to come.
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130 Tales
# 81 through 90
81. Her smile becomes permanent, her eyes wide as the actors live their lives for her. She’s fallen in love while they are shopping.
82. His brow wrinkled. His palms glistened as he wrung his hat between them. He never thought he’d be ashamed to come back here.
83. His fingers were red and he smelled of ice. With every breath his eyes lit and his chest wheezed. We drank tea as I told my tale.
84. He put his hand above his eyes to ward off the sun’s attacks. A trail of dust in the distance. No one comes this way, he thought.
85. It’s always surprising to Leonard how easily the earth gives to the force of a hoe, as if it were consciously making life easier.
86. He forgot how much he loved the squeak of his shoes on the court. Finally healed, Neil was prepared to hear it all night long.
87. Her cuffs jumped gently atop her calico gloves. Fingers protected, they attacked the chord then hopped back in caution.
88. She caught the image in her phone. But now she’s seeing everyone’s eyes on her and thinks she needs to get off the streets.
89. It’s like everyone felt for him. When the shelves of oranges fell it was automatic. Now everyone who walks by is picking one up.
90. It was like a rite of passage; like Hamlet being sent overseas, she’s returned home to demand respect and to tell what happened.
Past Decades:
a field of crowns 