No rest for the weary, no holiday for the wicked, no hope for the fallen....

Tonight marks the completion of another round of contest-entering. Two stories were submitted, one to the Once Written website, for their Midnight Hour "Halloween" short story competition....the other was a Flash Fiction piece submitted to the WOW! (women on writing) Website.

After the initial rush that I had hit the "submit" button and could in no way retrieve what I had sent out, the realization that other contest deadlines were impending invaded.

As I pulled 3 more stories out of my pile for the next 3 contests--- all of which have an October 1st deadline--- I suddenly realized something about my writing.......

I have an increasingly morbid fixation on death....

Every story I've ever written, ever thought of, has been centered around death---- the tragic death, the lonely death, the vengeful death, the grievous death, the hopeful death--- if there can be a "hopeful" death....

I'm not sure where my writing disposition comes from, but, it is clear what drives it. I seem to have this need to bring to light all the tragedies of life. I'm not writing about death just to write about death. I am writing about death as a means of bringing a solemnity to what I'm writing. I never intended to use death as a device. But, I guess I'm just too much of a cynic to believe that life could ever just be gumdrops and candy canes. I've seen too much to know that isn't possible.

So, I can't fake it. I can't pretend there aren't tragic things out there happening to good people. I can't pretend that death isn't real, it happens every day. All I can do is bring to my stories some thread of dignity and hope.

Death will always be there, so I guess it isn't really a fixation. Death is there because it is there....

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A to Z reflections....

Another A to Z challenge comes to an end--- another collection of posts and poetry have been written, another deep breath of relief is released. For my fellow bloggers that survived as well, it's another 'challenge-completed' notch carved into the writing desk. I've come to enjoy my yearly foray into the world of all things alphabetical. This was my third year, though it was only the second year I had a workable theme (which made the challenge substantially easier than the first year I attempted this challenge.) And, though my first year was difficult because my focus was so scattered, I found this year was more difficult because I lost the enthusiasm that came with the first year excitement----excitement which helped me plug along until the end of the challenge. Year 3 was a success in the sense that I completed the challenge, though, this was the year that almost wasn't---- Somewhere about a third of the way through the challenge, I seriously considered...

Bitter Honey

Weaving dreams of beguiling gold, a future's price for happiness. What secrets do you, determined, hold? asks the summer wind's soft caress. A guarded name, a hidden hope. Spinning wheels clutching time, grasping straw that falls away, What dreams may come, we soon may find, won't recall at end of day. A cherished life, a memory lost.

A million lives, beneath a single sky.....

Though our feet leave different prints,our tongues sound different words, there's a mirrored rhythm in the beating of our hearts. Though born in different worlds, our eyes sharpened 'neath different moons, there's an unspoken truth in the warmth of our touch. We may walk in different strides and dream different dreams, we may speak in different voices, maybe swim in different streams. It's plain to see, when dark night falls, as all the stars shine through, that underneath it all, there's no difference 'tween me and you.

From the Inkwell, From the Vein.....

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