State of the Blog

Here I am, having taken several days away from this blog to do other tasks with deadlines and timeframes that didn't work well with this project.

For some time, I've questioned whether I should continue with these posts. They've been a helpful exercise, forcing me to write about themes I might not address otherwise and making sure I got some writing practice done every day. Heck, I started this blog to make sure that I got some writing in, even on days when I couldn't find the focus to work on longer stories. And as disappointed as I feel when I put the blog on hiatus, I can deal with it. I mean, it's not as if I can't make up for the days I missed.

But being away brought me back to thinking about the big reason I debate continuing this blog as it is, which is that there are simply other stories I want to write, ones that don't fit into the "one picture + one story a day" format or that I'd rather submit and publish elsewhere. I miss spending more time with characters and getting to know them, y'know? The big problem with the big reason is that there's not enough time in my workday to do all the writing I want to do!

My thought now is to leave this blog not as an everyday commitment, but a space where I can work my writing brain with some short posts if I need a warmup or if I have an image with a story that needs to be told. I'm not sure if that's what I'll end up doing, but I might post this and see how I feel about it tomorrow.

If you've been reading this blog while I've been posting, please know that I'm grateful for your attention. There are a lot of good writers out there, and I'm pleased as all get-out that you spent some of your reading time on my posts. I hope it's been as fun for you so far as it's been for me. :)

"Old"

 

As he pushed the sealcoat across the surface of the parking lot, he became aware of an elderly woman watching him from the balcony of her second-floor condo. She was seated close to the railing, her hands folded over the top bar. The skin covering her fingers was dark brown. He imagined that it would look like splintered wood if he saw it up close, and that her fingers were curling over the railing like withered grape vines. He didn't know why it bothered him. He continued the sweep the liquid seal over the cracks in the exhausted asphalt that had been filled, telling himself that the sun was just getting to him.

On Break

The blog's on hold for the next few days. Got a test that got rescheduled, along with a project for work that needs to die already. Thank you!

"Sometimes on Those Summer Nights"

 

Sometimes on those summer nights, among all the shouts from the neighbors playing bag toss games in their driveways and the songs that fell in pitch as cars drove past the house, he would catch the sound of someone crying. He checked out the window a few times and once in the held-breath stillness of night even stepped barefoot on the lawn, but he never saw anybody. The only figure of any note was that of the tree, which stood in the middle of the yard, sticky with the sap that had built up inside it over the course of the spring and that was now escaping through cracks in the bark, unable to be contained any longer.

"What Are You Afraid Of?"

 

"It's the weirdest thing," said the oldest of the three rabbits. "They make these hard ground pathways for themselves, and they never step off of them, just follow them everywhere. When they're younger, they'll play in the grass, but the older ones--you almost never see that."

"Maybe they go blind as they grow up," said the youngest through the blades of grass that he had stuffed into his mouth. "Need the hard ground to know where to go."

"Or maybe they're afraid of what's out there," whispered the middle rabbit. The oldest turned to see him and would've sworn that he was just sitting still, listening to what the wind had to say for the evening, except that he follow the middle one's sideways stare and saw at the end of it a human, standing not five rabbits' length away, at the edge where the grass met solid ground.

"I don't like it," the middle rabbit said.

The oldest held still for a moment. Then he wrinkled his nose. "Why not?" he asked. "It's on the pavement. It won't come any closer." He lowered his head and joined the youngest in the task of eating.

"It's trying to hide its eyes now," the middle rabbit said in more urgent tones.

The oldest and the youngest glanced up. The human was holding a small rectangle in front of its face."Weird," said the youngest.

"It's still not coming any closer," the oldest said.

Later, the oldest rabbit figured that the human must have been able to hear him. That was why it put its foot on the grass.

"Run!" the oldest rabbit squeaked. The three dashed for the nearest bushes, scared to wonder what else the evening held in store.

"Snugglewood"

 

Person 1: "Hey, you want some wood?"

Person 2: "..."

1: "Look, Snugglewood's on sale."

2: "Sugar plum, it's always on sale. It's just not legal to pay for it outside of certain parts of Nevada."

1: "Why do I have the feeling that 'Snugglewood' was someone's euphemistic pet name for part of the body?"

2: "I don't know. Possibly because we already implied something like that just two seconds ago? Possibly because your mind thinks in weird euphemisms all the time? I don't know."

1: "What? Weird euphemisms?"

2: "I told you I was going to run to the corner and grab some eggs and you, like, died laughing for a half hour."

1: "I was just wondering whose you were going to grab."

[pause]

1: "I think a product name like 'Fucksticks' would help them sell a lot more firewood."

2: "Okay, going inside the store now. And I'm going to check the price of milk, too, if you think you can handle it."

1: [snicker]

2: "Yep. Definitely not getting any wood tonight, that's for sure."

"Dear as Pepper"

Today's post is based on an old Italian folktale called "Dear as Salt."

The wise woman left her cabin in the heart of the deep, living forest and traveled to the castle. There she found the prince, seated at a long table on top of a dais, celebrating his wedding feast.

She gave him a cloth bag full of black and red peppercorns.

"Pepper?" the prince asked, holding the bag open, sniffing. He tugged the bag's drawstrings and gave woman the most graceful smile that his confusion would let him manage. "To be honest, I would have expected mushrooms, or some other forest delicacy. Or at least salt. That has some value. We use that in everything."

The wise woman nodded. "Salt is simple and practical, a good foundation," she said. "But pepper. Pepper adds depth. Bite. Salt stands in agreement with each ingredient and makes each dish what it's meant to be. Pepper makes the whole dish something more." The wise woman bowed and turned to take her leave; the party was no place for her. "Go a year without pepper, and your bride there will say everything is seasoned pleasantly enough," she called out as she walked through the long hall. "But how long can a person look forward to dining on food that's merely pleasant?"

She didn't have to turn around to know that the prince's young bride was watching her leave, and that both her meal and the prince's remained untouched.